


Rock Me Like a Hurricane

by candygramme



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Betrayal, M/M, Major Character Injury, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candygramme/pseuds/candygramme
Summary: There once was a boy named Jensen.  He went to Hollywood to make a name for himself.  He never could've dreamed how that would turn out.This is the tale of how two musicians fell in love, were torn apart and how they tried to find their way back to each other again.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles/Steve Carlson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 69





	1. And the Grammy Goes to...

**Author's Note:**

> This story has taken me years to finish. I am very sorry for anyone who waited and who might still want to read it. At last, here it is.
> 
> I'd like to thank beta star spoonlessone for her painstaking work tidying this thing up for me. Greater love hath no man!

****

Beyoncé slid the envelope that contained the winner of the 'Best New Artist' category open, and the crowd held its breath as she paused theatrically.

"Jared Padalecki," smirked Adam Lambert, reading over her shoulder, and the two superstars applauded as Jared, for once wearing a suit, rose to his feet to make for the podium. Accepting his statuette, he stooped towards the microphone and bent to adjust it, chuckling as he straightened up again with it at the correct height.

"Oh, wow, what can I say?" His trademark beaming smile seemed to almost split his face in half, and there was riotous applause as he raised his trophy high and let out a whoop. "Y'all are responsible for me being here tonight. If you hadn't bought my record, I'd still be in San Antonio, washing dishes and emptying ashtrays." He looked around himself, a softer smile on his face. "So many of the guys I love are here tonight, and I owe my success to them too."

His gaze traveled over the audience, picking out famous faces as he clutched his statuette. "I want to thank my manager, Misha, and my sister, Megan, for giving me the strength and courage to..."

He broke off for a moment. One face loomed at him, standing out from amid the crowd of applauding celebrities. One man — who'd gone from colleague, lover, and best friend to bitter rival — was staring at him impassively as if daring him to claim any of the credit for his rise to fame. He felt a tingle travel the length of his spine and suddenly his achievement tasted of ashes.

"...to pick myself up and put my words and music out there. Thank you everyone."

Bowing to the audience, he turned and walked off the stage, thoroughly discomfited.

The awards ceremony continued, building towards the final accolade, that of 'Album of the Year', and as that moment drew closer, Jared couldn't stop himself from looking over at the table where Jensen Ackles and his entourage were sitting.

Jensen, still boyish looking with his bangs in his face and kohl-rimmed eyes, was apparently doing his best to ignore Jared's presence, leaning over to murmur something to Steve, his lead guitarist, and then collapsing against him in fits of laughter. It was evident that he was enjoying the night.

As always these days whenever he was out in public, Jared turned away offers of alcohol, choosing instead to drink mocktails, starting with virgin coladas and then switching to kiwi sparkles after the waiter had murmured the ingredients. Misha was on form, and it was evident that he'd smoked up before the ceremony, because he was apparently starving now. He'd eaten everything put in front of him and most of Megan's too.

"You're a shoe-in for best album," he said now, reaching over to filch a lump of sugar from the bowl that had been distributed along with the coffee. "Trust me, nobody else stands a chance."

Jared was about to respond, when Taylor Swift, the previous year's winner, mounted the stage alongside Justin Timberlake. The audience fell quiet, a thrum of anticipation in the air, so palpable that one could feel it through the soles of one's feet.

There was a moment or two of banter between the two artists that was so obviously scripted that it fell flat, and then Justin produced the envelope containing the information everyone was waiting to hear. "The nominees for Album of the Year are as follows," he called. "Adam Lambert, Lady Gaga, Jared Padalecki, Rihanna, and Jensen Ackles." He turned as Taylor introduced the montage of the nominees' musical efforts.

"What?" Megan turned to Misha. "You didn't tell me he was a nominee too."

"Why? Are you worried?" Misha shrugged and turned back to the stage. "It's in the bag. Ready to go get your award, Jay?"

"Shut up! Adam'll take it for sure. He's amazing." Jared was watching the screen, which was currently showing a clip of Jensen, pouring his heart out singing, 'Blaze', and the applause that followed the short snippet sent that cold feeling down through his gut again.

"And the winner is..." The room held its collective breath. "Jensen Ackles."

There were gasps as Jensen rose to go and accept his award, limping, depending on the stick in his hand as he climbed the stairs to the stage.

Jensen, black hair streaked with silver, wore black leather with silver buckles, studs and chains. The stick he carried was ebony with silver handle and tip, and there was a silver snake coiled around his left arm from shoulder to wrist. He was smiling, and as he accepted the award, the applause was deafening. 

To Jared, it felt like a knife turning in his gut as he saw his past and all his lost dreams for the future standing up there on the stage waiting for the cheers to die down.

"I'd like to thank Steve, Danny, Jonah and David, Jason, and Riley, and all the guys in the back room — Darren and Cris and the rest who helped me get back up when I thought that was it." Jensen's voice was deep and his face seemed to glow, lambent green eyes shining out from the dark make-up and full lips quirked in a lop-sided smile. "But really, this award belongs to the one who should've been here to receive it. Christian, I know that you're up there, watching us right now. Put down that bottle of Jack and get with the program. This one's for you."

There was a gentle chuckle from the audience, followed by a storm of applause. One by one, the watching celebrities rose to their feet as the whole auditorium paid homage to Christian Kane, who wasn't there, and who never would be again.

The awards dinner concluded soon after that, and Misha dragged Jared, still feeling numb and unsettled, over to the after party where there were lines of reporters clamoring for their five minutes with the winners. Jared was soon surrounded by people who wanted copy for their publication, and Misha was busy discussing fees with Rolling Stone, who wanted to do an article about Jared's rise to fame. It was quite some time before he managed to escape and head for the quiet of the men's room to wash his face and try to compose himself.

He was partway through emptying his bladder, when he heard the door behind him open, and the halting steps of someone else approaching the urinals. A glance to his side revealed that his worst fears were confirmed. Jensen had taken his place at the stall next to his. Amidst the creak of leather, the purr of his descending zipper heralded his intention to take a leak. There seemed no escape, unless he was prepared to risk peeing down his own leg by cutting off the stream prematurely.

Eyes fixed firmly to the front in the time-honored way of all men in public urinals, Jared tried to hurry so that he could make good his escape. It was not to be.

"Good album." Jensen's voice was deep and harsh, and it was obvious that he was spoiling for a fight.

"Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you." He gave Jensen a fleeting, somewhat sickly smile. "How've you been?"

"You care?" Jensen laughed without any humor in the sound. "Thought you were all about hittin' an' runnin' away."

"Excuse me? I wasn't the one that ran. You checked yourself out of the hospital and never told me where you'd gone. I looked for you for weeks. You never even let me know about Chris's funeral." Jared had forgotten about taking off even though he'd finished with the urinal. He adjusted his clothing and wheeled to face Jensen. "You left me flat."

"You're kidding me." Jensen's eyes sparked green fire as his voice rose. "You're the one that walked away. Danni told me..." He'd balled his fists, and now, as Jared leant towards him, he struck, the blow to Jared's shoulder. "Just get out of my way, why don't you?"

Jared's face paled as he stumbled backwards to lean against the porcelain, and he looked away, discomfited. Danneel? What did she have to do with anything? What had she told Jensen this time? It always came back to her.

Jared was livid now, and his hands shot out to grip Jensen's shoulders and shake him until he could hear his teeth rattling. "And just what did Danneel say?" he growled. "Whatever it was, she must have read my mind, considering I never said a word to the bitch except for asking her to get out and let me sit with you without her constant bitching."

"Say what you like about Danni." Jensen's voice was low, but the anger vibrated through it. "She's got more loyalty in her little finger than you have in your entire fucking..." 

"Enough!" Jared's fingers bit into Jensen's shoulders. "You picked her over me, but she's a lying snake, and someday you'll regret it." He shoved Jensen back, hard, and Jensen, trying to save himself, pinwheeled his arms, put out his injured leg, and when, inevitably, it folded under him, he toppled, landing on the smooth, hard tile with a distressed sound. Jared stood there for a moment, horrified at his own actions. It took him a minute to process what he'd done, but then he dropped to his knees to help. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry."

He bent to reach out a hand to help Jensen up, and instead found himself hitting the tile in his turn as Jensen kicked out at him and shoved him off balance. Scrambling round, he raised his fist, would have struck Jensen, but he paused, heart pounding with the adrenaline that demanded fight or flight... or fuck — because this was Jensen, with his lop sided smile, his expressive eyes and his sultry mouth. He reached instead, grabbing Jensen's face and bending to bite at his mouth, less a caress and more a claim.

He'd forgotten how soft those lips were; he'd forgotten the taste of Jensen. The air flew from his lungs as he looked down at Jensen. Anger colored his cheeks, and his eyes were snapping with fury. "Jesus," he growled again, and pulled Jensen to him, claiming that sensual mouth and delving into it with his tongue. "Never wanted to let you go. Never would."

"Danneel said..." Jensen's voice was thready, and he was struggling against Jared, fists smacking and pounding on Jared's back as he tried to get him off. "Danneel told me what you said about being tied to a cripple. How could I even be with you after that? I can't even stand to see you."

"Fuck Danneel. She's a lying bitch and always was!" Jared moaned softly as he kissed and nipped his way over the lush mouth and down over Jensen's neck. "Never said anything about you to her."

He didn't know whether Jensen had believed him or not, but when Jensen finally relaxed against him, Jared let out a sigh and pulled him closer, not caring, bodies grinding together there on the floor of the bathroom. His hand crept down to cup Jensen's leather encased groin, and he gave a breathless chuckle. "You look fucking hot, but dude, you're wrapped up like a goddamned sausage."

"Never did have any patience, did you?" Jensen was bucking up into his touch as he spoke. What Jared might have answered was never heard, because Steve came into the bathroom at that moment.

"Jen, you're needed for a photo op," he announced, looking anywhere except where the two of them were sprawled on the floor. "Danni's got the guy from Rolling Stone all lined up, but you have to come now, or you'll lose it."

Sitting up straight, Jensen shook himself, suddenly as remote as if they'd never been rolling around on the floor in the throes of passion, and Jared rolled clumsily away, winding up on his knees, thankful that the dark silk of his suit wouldn't show the stresses he'd put it through.

Jensen looked incredible, kiss-plumped lips curved in an expression that might have been regret. "Okay, man, I'm there. Gimme a hand up."

As Jared crouched, seemingly forgotten, Jensen was helped up, and away, and was gone, leaving him to wonder just what Danneel had said, and whether he would ever be able to reclaim what had been his.


	2. Wasted Jensen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it all began. Jensen comes to town to seek his fortune and finds friends

****

The young man standing at the bar with his beer clasped idly between his hands looked familiar, although Steve couldn't quite place him. He'd clapped and whistled loudly as Steve had finished his set and come down off the tiny stage, and now, as Steve went up to the bar, the young man greeted the musician with a shy smile. 

"Can I buy you a beer?" The soft voice had a southern twang to it, and Steve looked up, smiling,

"Sure you can." He gave the youngster a sideways smirk. "Rule number one in the musicians' handbook. Never turn down free booze. It's against our religion." 

"Oh, yeah?" The candid green gaze seemed to grow suddenly more remote. "What religion would that be?"

"Confirmed drunkard." Steve noted the sudden withdrawal with interest. As the bartender put two beers on the counter, he turned and held out his hand. "Steve Carlson," he murmured. "You new in town?"

There was a moment's hesitation before the guarded look left the youngster's eyes, and they crinkled up into a smile that transformed his sulky looking face.

"Yeah, I haven't been here long. I'm Jensen." Steve's hand was taken and shaken vigorously. "Loved the set. You've got a cool sound." 

"Thanks." As ever, Steve didn't want to talk about what was behind him; he wanted to hang out and play. The set had barely begun to slake his need for music, and as the audience was beginning to leave, he gave Jensen a wide smile. "Do you play?" he asked. 

"A little." The young man's voice was deep and firm, but he spread his hands in a gesture of denial. "Not like you though. Nothing like as good." 

Steve wasn't really sure why this kid had captured his attention, but there was something about this Jensen that drew him. As the bartender pushed a bottle of Jack over the bar for him, Steve nodded his thanks, reached to take it and turned to his new acquaintance.

"C'mon over and we'll find you a guitar. Me an' the boys like to jam a little after a gig."

Jensen's eyes opened wide, and he looked somewhat taken aback, but he grabbed hold of his beer and followed Steve back to the corner where Steve's friends were sitting. Steve introduced him around, and for a little while he sat watching, sipping his beer as first Steve, then another guy whose name was Corey, began to sing. When they launched into "Freebird," Jensen began to harmonize, his voice sweet as it wove between the voices of the other two.

Nodding, Steve gave him a wink and a smile. The kid could certainly sing, that was for sure, and he wondered what else Jensen could do. He reached onto the stage to grab a guitar one of the other musicians had left on its stand and passed it over to Jensen, nodding approvingly as the youngster quickly tuned it and then joined in with the song they were playing.

It was 3 a.m. before the guy behind the bar finally came around, jingling his keys and growling that they'd outstayed their welcome and that he had a home to go to. Steve gave him a grin but rose to his feet to start packing his instruments away. Jensen, who had been sitting, softly crooning something he didn't recognize, reluctantly laid down the guitar he'd been strumming and rose to his feet. "Guess I should take off too," he said, slurring a little. "Got a call-back in the morning. Might be a part for me."

"How are you getting home?" Steve was closing up his guitar case as he spoke, and as he straightened up Jensen grinned at him. "I'm walking. I only live about ten blocks over." He executed a little dance step and hiccupped slightly as he bumped into the bar.

"Whoa, whoa," Steve chuckled as he surveyed Jensen's slightly fuddled expression. "Not letting you walk home at this time in the morning. I'd worry. I'm gonna get a cab, so hold on, and I'll drop you off."

The youngster gave Steve a long, distrustful look before finally smiling at him and nodding his head. "Okay, thanks," he murmured, ducking his head in the bashful way Steve was starting to recognize. He'd recognized the distrust too, filed it away for probing later, if he got the opportunity. For now, he just gathered up the guitar and his jacket, waved to the bartender, and headed for the door with Jensen in tow.

The three storey apartment block Jensen indicated was somewhat dilapidated, and Jensen had his keys out of his pocket before the cab had come to a halt. Steve had ripped off the top from his empty matchbook and scribbled his number, handing it to Jensen, who rewarded him with a smile that crinkled up his eyes and took Steve's breath away. Pointing up at a window over the front door, Jensen showed Steve the Texas flag hanging there. "Cool drapes, yeah?" he murmured.

"Very cool," answered Steve, unable to do anything other than respond to the grin. "Listen, man, I had fun tonight. You wanna call me tomorrow, and we can arrange to get together and jam a little?"

"That'd be awesome." Whatever misgivings Jensen had had earlier seemed to have vaporized on the journey home. "I've got a call-back first thing."

"Yeah, good luck with that, kid." There was affection in Steve's voice. This youngster had somehow broken through Steve's reserve, and he suddenly determined that the two of them would be friends. "Listen, don't call me too early or you'll make my eyeballs bleed, okay?" Steve reached to ruffle the glossy, streaked hair. "Bout three in the afternoon is plenty soon enough, K?"

"Three. You got it." Jensen was already slipping out of the cab, a lithe figure with a cocky, bow-legged strut that suddenly dried out Steve's mouth and made him bite his lip.

As the cab pulled away, Steve was already mentally compiling the things he'd learned about Jensen and making lists of things he wanted to know.

Jensen didn't call him the day after, and not the day after that either. Steve felt a little pang as the days passed, but he was busy, and he didn't have time to go looking for Jensen — didn't know his last name or his number. All he knew was the apartment block he'd delivered Jensen to, and finally decided that he'd go round and see what was up once the weekend rolled around.

Thursday night arrived. He was playing the Hotel Café, and he always loved that, got off on the way the regulars dug his music. He'd only played there a handful of times so far, but the place never failed to fill him with excitement; there was just something about it. 

The doors opened at ten, and the lines outside began to file into the venue, eager to grab drinks and get good seats and be ready for the show. Steve had just finished his sound check when he saw Jensen come in. He waved and was going to go over to speak with him, but just at that moment David came to talk to him about the idea he'd had for a sax break in one of the songs they'd been rehearsing. By the time he was done, Jensen had melted into the crowd.

It was a good night, and Steve was very close to drunk by the time the set was done. Someone had sent up a bottle of Jack, and he’d stopped using a glass in favor of clapping the bottle to his lips and allowing it to trickle, salty and sharp, down into his mouth. When he finally stepped down off the stage to head to the gents, he was concentrating on walking a straight line, and almost didn’t see Jensen until he practically collided with him.

“Hey,” he slurred, swaying slightly as he steadied himself. “Sorry, man.”

“S’okay.” Jensen shied away, face averted, but not before Steve had noticed the purple and yellow bruise that stained the high cheekbone and partly closed one of the youngster’s eyes.

“Whoa, wait up!” Steve reached for Jensen, grabbed his arm and tugged him close as he was attempting to make his getaway. “What the hell happened to you? You look like you went a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson or something.”

“I… I guess I’m clumsy,” said Jensen, his voice soft, his eyes lowered as he spoke. "Walked into a…"

"Don't give me that!" Steve frowned. "I can see the fingerprints on your cheek. What's going on, dude? Who hit you?"

The young man's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. When he finally did speak, all he said was, "Can we just play something?"

Nodding, Steve continued on to the bathroom, and, once he returned to the stage, he gave a little gesture of his head inviting Jensen to join him. It wasn't long before they were engrossed in the music, fingers spidering over frets as they picked out tune after tune. Their voices seemed to blend, and when Jensen sang, he closed his eyes, face uplifted as if the act of making music conferred grace on him.

Steve had always been a night owl, and it seemed that Jensen was too, but finally the bar staff came and told them that it was closing time, and reluctantly Steve began to pack away his instruments.

"Want a ride?" The flush that crept over Jensen's cheeks at Steve's words made him frown, and for a moment it seemed as if the young man was going to refuse, but finally his lips curved in a smile, and he nodded, shyly. 

"Thanks, man. You know, you don't have to if it's out of your way." 

"Don't be an idiot!" Steve was bending to put his guitar into its case. "Ain't gonna leave you to walk home at this time of night."

Jensen didn't answer, but he shouldered some of the PA equipment and turned to follow the guitarist out of the bar. The cab hadn't arrived yet, and Steve was just turning to go back into the bar when the tall, dark figure materialized out of the shadows.

"So that's where you are, you little shit!" The voice was deep and harsh, and Jensen made a soft little sound somewhere between a gasp and a whine. 

"I was only…" He didn't manage to say anything further before the figure had stepped forward and seized him by the throat. Steve's eyes widened, and for a moment he froze, unable to believe what was taking place right in front of his eyes. 

As Jensen began to struggle, Steve reached into his pocket for the Stevens Steel that he used to play his slide guitar and launched into the fray, smacking Jensen's abuser around the head with it and nodding grimly as the newcomer released his friend and staggered back to lean on the wall, nursing his ear.

"Get into the car." Steve's voice was stern, and Jensen didn't do more than gape at him as he stumbled to the cab that had just drawn up and did as he was told. Without saying anything further, Steve turned and gave his address to the cabbie, then climbed in next to Jensen as the driver pulled away.

It was a few minutes before Steve turned to Jensen. He could feel the kid shaking next to him and wondered how on earth he'd gotten himself into that kind of situation. He was about to say something when Jensen turned to him and met his eyes. 

His voice was low, when he finally began to speak, and Steve had to strain to hear him. 

"His name is Ritz," murmured the young man. "I met him when I moved in. He's in the next apartment along, and we were getting friendly, but then I made the mistake of going after a part in this soap he's on, and…" For a moment, Jensen didn't continue. It seemed as if he was thinking better about sharing his story, and Steve was about to let him off the hook when he suddenly began again.

"I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. My agent sent me to an audition, and I got a call-back, and this morning I heard that I got the part." He swallowed, coughed before continuing, his voice husky. "I didn't know that it was the part he'd been playing. See, they canned him for… for drinking, and I took his part. He spotted the directions to the audition on my dresser and… and called me a treacherous son of a bitch. We got into it, and there was a fight. He thinks that I made friends with him on purpose, so I could steal his job, but it's not true."

"He sounds kinda nuts to me. You probably should move." Steve put a hand on Jensen's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Get right away from the guy before he does something permanent to you."

"Yeah." Jensen hung his head. "There aren't that many cheap apartments around."

Nodding, Steve said nothing for a moment or two, but as the cabbie drew up outside the house where Steve was renting the basement apartment, he smiled. "You can stay here tonight anyway," he murmured. "And you need to press charges. That dude is completely out of control."

"Yeah, I guess." Jensen sighed as Steve reached to touch the bruise on Jensen's cheek. "I didn't want it to look bad, considering I took his job."

"You don't want that asshole jumping out on you when you least expect it," said Steve as he unlocked the door and stood aside to usher Jensen in. "Apart from everything else, it's gonna piss the makeup girls off on your show if they have to keep concealing the shiners."

Smirking, the young man entered the house, looking around himself as he went. He'd brought one of Steve's guitars from the cab, and as Steve closed and bolted the door, he looked around to see where he might set it down.

Steve's place was comfortably furnished, with oiled pine and Navajo rugs, and the first thing that caught the eye was the number of guitars scattered around. As Jensen turned back to ask where Steve wanted him to put the one in his hands, the musician was busy taking in the loose limbed, rangy body and graceful gait of his visitor. He'd already noticed the brilliant green eyes with their thickly fringed lashes, and the tender mouth that seemed to promise things he would never dare articulate. Stepping forward, he gave his guest a smile. "Just stick it in the corner over there and come take a load off," he said, tossing his denim jacket onto a chair.

Putting the guitar where Steve had indicated, Jensen turned back to Steve. "Listen, I really don't like to impose…" he said, his voice soft and somehow vulnerable.

"You aren't." Steve went into the kitchen to find a couple of highball glasses and a bottle of Jack. "Mi casa es su casa, and all that hospitable shit," he said, returning to hold out one of the glasses to Jensen. "I'm hoping that you're gonna help me out some."

"Help you?" Jensen looked baffled. He murmured his thanks as he took the glass from his host and brought it to his lips. "I'm kinda tempted to say, 'how can li'l ol' me he'p you,' 'cos you don't look like you need any help at all." The exaggerated Penelope Pitstop impression was high and shrill.

Laughing, Steve leaned forward, glass in hand. "That song I was putting together tonight. 'Come Around More, Nicole Kidman.' You did an awesome harmony. I want you to help me work on it, maybe put it onto tape. I'm gonna put out a CD, and while it's self-financed and won't go anywhere much, I want it to be as good as it can be, you know?"

Jensen's eyes glowed; Steve was convinced that was the only word to describe them. They had an inner light shining from them in a way that hit him somewhere low in his belly, igniting a licking heat that warmed places he usually associated with rounder curves, softer cheeks and higher voices. Clearing his throat, he lapsed into silence, watching as the soft line of Jensen's full mouth curved up in a smile.

"You want me to sing?" There was pride in Jensen's expression, and a little fear too. "You know I ain't a singer; just an actor."

"Does it matter?" Steve dropped onto the couch beside Jensen, lounging bonelessly as he surveyed his guest. "You sing like a bird, and you can hear the harmony before I even think of it. Performer or not, it works for me. So, what do you say?"

"'Course! I'd be proud to help out." Jensen gave him a soft smile and yawned widely, prompting Steve to go and retrieve the spare bedding. Returning with his arms full of pillows and sheets, he studied the young man he'd invited into his home. Jensen's face was pale, and the bruises stood out like graffiti on a work of art. His eyes, usually a lustrous green, seemed to be somehow faded, and dark shadows around them showed just how tired he was.

"You're running on empty, man," murmured Steve, quickly making up a bed for Jensen on the couch and going to find a couple of bottles of water. "Get some sleep. What time do you have to be out in the morning?" he asked as he passed a bottle over to Jensen.

"I don't have to be out any time tomorrow. I report to the _Days of our Lives_ set on Monday at 8 a.m., but until then I get to sleep." He yawned, smiling sleepily at Steve and began to shuck his clothes, skinning down to his boxers and hopping into the nest Steve had created for him. watching while the musician put his guitars away.

"Awesome. We can maybe work on that song tomorrow, if you don't have anywhere else to be?" he said, turning to look at Jensen. A moment later, he was shaking his head with a grin. Jensen was out for the count, thick lashes fanning out over bruised cheeks, and soft mouth slightly open as he snored gently. "Oh, well, goodnight, man," he said, grinning, and made for his own bed, extinguishing the lights on his way up the stairs.

Steve Carlson was by no means a morning person. When he finally stumbled out of bed it was almost noon, and he thought that his eyeballs might bleed if he looked too hard at the daylight. A shower, and a handful of ibuprofen helped, and he felt strong enough to drag himself through to the kitchen and make himself a cup of corpse reviver.

As he passed through the still-darkened living room, he could hear the little, snuffling snores that indicated his guest was still lost to the world. Grinning to himself, he made for the kitchen and set about making a full pot of coffee. At the time Steve wasn't quite sure how — in after years he came to realize that the scent of coffee acted as a powerful stimulant for Jensen — but that first morning he was happily humming to himself as he scrambled eggs and put bacon on. He jumped as his young guest materialized in the doorway, eyes half closed and face flushed with sleep, and made directly for the coffee machine.

Casting a sideways glance at Jensen, Steve smiled to himself, recognizing a fellow addict and wordlessly passed him a mug. "Go for it," he said, winking, although Jensen, semi-comatose, didn't seem to notice. Reaching for the carafe holding the life-giving fluid, Jensen yanked it out of the coffee maker and substituted his mug to capture the liquid that was pouring through the grounds.

"I saw a movie once about the mummy. It had Christopher Lee in it, and he was kept animate because he was fed on tanna leaves. Kinda reminds me of you." Steve was grinning as he watched Jensen inhale the fragrance of the rich, brown liquid before sipping it and moaning softly through pursed lips.

There was a pause during which Jensen drank half the mug down without so much as a breath, then he turned to Steve and beamed. "'S'important to have a good breakfast; my mama told me that."

"I bet she didn't mean just coffee." Steve was buttering toast as he spoke, and finally laid a plate full of food in front of his guest. "So dig in. Wouldn't want to let your mama down, would we?"

For a moment, there was a lost look in his young visitor's eyes, and Steve frowned, but it was gone in an instant, and the youngster fell on the food as if he were starving, mumbling his thanks around a forkful of egg.

"You got places to be?" Steve watched as Jensen cleared his plate and reached for the carafe of coffee, refilling their mugs as he spoke.

"Not today. Was gonna do nothing — maybe write home to my mom and dad." Jensen eyed Steve speculatively. "Why? You want me to wash your car or something?"

About to frown and ask him what the hell he was talking about, Steve noticed the gleam of humor in Jensen's eyes and laughed. "You can wash it if you like, but leave the rust, because it's holding the bodywork on." Reaching for the sugar, he eyed Jensen. "I want you to do that song with me. The 'Come Around More' one."

"Yeah." Jensen nodded. "Okay, but you're gonna have to find another name for the girl. You can't leave Nicole Kidman in there, even if she is hot."

"Guess not. She’s certainly hot though." Steve made a gesture that indicated just how hot he thought Nicole Kidman was, and how he would handle her hotness, given half a chance.

“Dude, you and Nicole Kidman! Don’t even think it. The woman’s as tall as I am. She’d dwarf you if she wore high heels.” There was a laugh in Jensen’s voice as he pondered the actress in question. 

“Ah, she’s used to it. Tom Cruise is a fucking midget!” Steve began to tidy up the breakfast things, clearing the table and setting the dishwasher going while Jensen drank more coffee. There was a companionable silence for a while, and then he heard Jensen take a deep breath.

"Why did you bring me home with you?" he asked, his eyebrows raised, and Steve frowned. He wasn't quite sure himself, except that the kid had appealed to him at a visceral level, and he hadn't wanted to let him go, had wanted to protect him.

He was about to deliver a non-committal answer when something in Jensen's expression stopped him cold. "I guess I like you," he murmured, knocked somewhat off balance by the question and unsure what else to say. He was about to try and expand on that, when his young visitor suddenly gave him a brilliant smile and appeared to relax, smirking as he rose to follow Steve into his studio.

"Can't be too careful," he said. "Thought that you might want to white slave me. I'd fetch a pretty penny in Casablanca, you know."

"Shoot! I should've thought of that." Steve grinned as he dried his hands and tossed the dish towel over towards the laundry room. "Guess you're gonna be on your guard now, aren't you?"

"You bet your ass," smirked Jensen, rising to his feet. "You're going to have to lull me into a false sense of security, aren't you?" 

As Steve led Jensen through the apartment to the room he'd set up as a studio, he couldn't help wondering about this odd, pretty young man who'd apparently become his friend.

The song was progressing. Jensen’s voice complemented Steve’s, and they sang it through a couple of times before Jensen, who had taken a seat at Steve’s piano, turned to him. “Dude, Nicole Kidman just isn’t right for the song. We need to change that, because I can’t stop the giggles when we get to the chorus.” He let his fingers idle on the keys of the piano. “Come around, Ronald Reagan…” he sang, and dissolved into laughter.

“Hell, no! Make it O. J. Simpson,” smirked Steve, laughing.

“Or Alice Cooper.” Jensen played a fanfare to counterpoint his suggestion. Or — I got it! — M. C. Hammer!”

“Christie Brinkley?” Steve’s guitar played a triumphant chord.

“Well, at least she’s the right sex.” The piano was swift to respond, and Jensen gave Steve a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look like a mischievous five-year-old. He suddenly swiveled around on the stool and struck a choirboy pose, palms pressed together in an attitude of prayer. “Come around more, Barbara Walters,” he sang, voice high and sweet. Steve choked with laughter and threw a pen at him, causing him to chuckle as it bounced off his chest. “I dunno. It needs to be a single name, not a first and last name. Would sound better if it was something like… Anastasia?”

“Doesn’t fit. The scansion is wrong.” Steve set his guitar down. “Hmmm…. Carmelita? Barbarella? California?” He ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. “Oklahoma?”

“What’s with all the states? You trying to tell me you’re in a state about this?” Jensen was turning back to the piano when he suddenly paused. “I’ve got it. Alabama! Fits perfectly, and with a name like that she’d be bound to put out!”

“You’re a dirty child!” Steve shook his head at his guest but reached for his guitar and sang the chorus through experimentally. “But it works. Okay, let’s go with Alabama.” 

Smirking, Jensen turned back to the piano, running through the opening chords as Steve’s husky voice took up the melody of the verse. As the song came to an end, the two of them were grinning like fools. “That was pretty cool,” murmured Jensen. “I like it. Here’s to Alabama, wherever she is.” He raised his coffee mug aloft. 

Watching him, Steve felt something inside himself melt. He smiled as Jensen began to play a boogie, and soon joined in, fooling around and feeling somehow as if he’d found a missing piece of himself. He wasn’t at all sure what Jensen meant to him, but he intended to hang in and find out.

They took to hanging out a lot after that. Jensen started work on _Days_ and found himself an apartment up above a comic store some six blocks from Steve’s basement, but he was most often found at Steve’s, guitar in hand, voice raised in gleeful harmony. Steve tried his damnedest to get Jensen up on stage with him, but somehow Jensen never would.

It was almost Christmas, and Jensen had decided to throw a party. He’d told Steve that there would be a few friends, but somehow that had escalated, and people were spilling out of the apartment in every direction. Steve had never really thought of Jensen as the gregarious type, and he found himself blinking at the young actor’s sudden transformation from quietly mischievous to complete party animal. 

The kitchen floor was sticky with booze, and there was still plenty of that left even though it was now midnight. There was beer and wine, a row of bottles of spirits that people had brought, and a somewhat questionable punch that seemed to be fifty percent vodka and fifty percent Kool Aid with grapes floating around in it. Steve had tried it and shuddered, but it seemed that Jensen was all for it. 

The young actor had been happily drunk when Steve had arrived and displaying a side of himself Steve had never seen. Gone was the thoughtful, quiet young man, and in his place was a wickedly funny, loud presence who was without a doubt the life and soul of the party, There was a new guy who’d been brought by one of the staff from _Days_ , whose name was Jason something. He and Jensen had hit it off, and when Steve got there the two of them were jamming to a version of Van Morrison’s “Crazy Love.” Steve felt just a little choked that his boy was singing with someone else.

As the party progressed, Jensen got louder, and more inebriated. When Steve rolled himself a joint and took himself out onto the balcony to smoke it, Jensen, by this time slurring his words a little, followed him out and took a seat beside him. Steve drew a lungful of aromatic smoke in and held it, wordlessly handing off the joint to his companion. Jensen mumbled thanks and placed it between his lips as Steve looked on, fascinated.

Letting out the smoke, Steve reached to take it back, and Jensen giggled.

“Man, I am so wasted.” His eyes were hazy emeralds, clouded with alcohol and pot. The smile he wore was completely open, and although his face was a little flushed, his freckles still stood out, making him look somehow vulnerable.

“Yeah, you are.” Steve grinned at him as he lay back in his seat, long legs splayed in front of him.

“Wanted to have some fun for a change.” Jensen’s voice was low, a growl in it that Steve hadn’t heard before. He moved in his seat, surreptitiously adjusting his clothing. He wasn’t gay — he knew he wasn’t, but there was something about Jensen that always got to him. “Still do.”

Steve took another hit from the joint, prevaricating as he stared at Jensen, and jumped as Jensen leaned forward to pluck it from his lips and place it between his own. “Hey!” he said, completely off balance. “You’re pretty high. Maybe you should…?”

He didn’t get the rest of his sentence out. Jensen growled, “Shotgun,” and sucked the aromatic smoke deep into his lungs. Reaching to tangle his fingers in Steve’s long hair he tugged, aligning their lips and pressing in close to begin blowing the smoke into Steve’s very astonished mouth.

Jensen didn’t seem inclined to let him go after he’d finished the exhale, and his tongue seemed to have followed the stream of smoke and was now mapping out the contours of Steve’s oral cavity while the young actor made little, satisfied grunting sounds. All of a sudden there was nothing Steve wanted to do more than bend Jensen over the nearest article of furniture and possess him.

The young man tasted of that godawful punch, and tobacco and pot, and his lips were soft and plush. Long, thick eyelashes veiled eyes that were blown wide and black with only a tiny rim of green to show their color. 

Letting him go for a moment, Jensen brought the joint up to Steve’s lips. “Your turn. It’s so much better when you share it,” and Steve couldn’t refuse, had to suck on the thing and take those lips again, sending the smoke back to Jensen.

He was harder than he’d ever been in his life. He wasn’t sure how or why Jensen had gotten through his defenses, but he had, and Steve knew suddenly that there would be no going back from this. He took another, final drag, licked his way into Jensen’s mouth and sent the smoke flowing through as Jensen gasped in a breath. He was rewarded when Jensen’s fingers crept down into the V of his groin to press, finding his erection almost at once.

He felt dazed and horny. Jensen was warm in his arms, tongue curled against his as his hands explored, finding and teasing every hotspot on Steve’s body. It would be so easy to give himself over to the younger man. He could feel the tingling tightness in his thighs that spoke of easy pleasure and stiffened a little, drawing back from Jensen, who blinked up at him owlishly, lips puffy with kisses and eyes blown wide.

“Get off me, Jen; I can’t.” Steve was never sure where he found the willpower to turn down what Jensen was offering to him. His voice was hoarse, harsh with desire as he captured Jensen’s hands and brought them to his lips. “It’s not that I don’t want you,” he growled as Jensen’s eyes widened and his face began to crumple.

“What is it then? I can feel that you’re…” Jensen indicated the bulge in Steve’s pants as he spoke. His words were slurred a little, and his face had turned pink around the nose. He looked for all the world like a forlorn little boy.

“See, Jen, you’re wasted — you said that yourself. I’m not gonna take advantage of you while you’re trashed like this.” Jensen’s eyes filled with tears, and he made as if to say something. Steve lifted his hand and pressed the young man’s lips closed. “Listen, if you still want to get it on in the morning, when you’re sober, come tell me, and I’ll do my best to oblige, all right?”

For a moment more, Jensen gazed at Steve, face blank as he processed the singer’s words, and then the threatened tears spilled over to trickle down his cheeks. Steve’s belly ran cold, because he’d never been able to handle tears. He pulled Jensen close and made vague shushing sounds as Jensen huddled in against him. “Hush now; it’s okay. C’mon, Jen, don’t cry.”

“S’okay.” Jensen was full-on slurring now. “Just… you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

“I try.” Steve was frowning as he tried to divine Jensen’s state of mind. The young man was still snuggled against him, relaxed now as he pressed tight into Steve’s arms, and as Steve looked down at him he heard a faint snore. “Oh, shit!” he growled, mentally shaking his head. “Just what I need. A fucking puppy!”

Jensen made no response other than to snuffle a little and burrow deeper into Steve’s embrace, and Steve sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he was likely to be there for some time.

Philosophically fumbling in his pockets for cigarette case and lighter, he took out another joint, lit it and allowed the fragrant smoke to send him spinning out into the universe.

He awoke as the sun came up and poked grimy, glittering fingers into his eyes. His back was killing him, and his head was pounding in a way that made him wish he were dead. Jensen was still clinging to him, limpet-like as he slumbered on, drooling gently onto Steve’s shoulder. Sighing, Steve attempted to disengage himself from the younger man, and then, when that didn’t seem to be happening, struggled to his knees and shook the kid into semi-consciousness.

“C’mon, Jen. Need somewhere to lie down and die.” Jensen’s eyes didn’t seem to be tracking, but he stumbled to his feet and stood swaying, still clutching at Steve’s shoulder. For a moment, Steve thought that he might fall down, but then he began to lurch forward, back into the apartment. 

It was quiet, save for a single, sleeping body that Steve vaguely recollected from earlier. Perhaps the man had crashed on the couch, but it seemed as though it had rejected him, because he was now sleeping peacefully on the floor next to it, and one of the cushions had slid off to lie on his back. Jensen paid him no mind but led Steve through the debris to his bedroom. 

“S’locked,” he croaked, fumbling through his pockets. “Dun’ wan’ anyone fuckin’ in m’bed.”

Steve understood that. As Jensen found his key and swayed into the door to lean with his forehead against it, he gently removed the key from Jensen’s grasp and used it, pushing the door open with a sigh of relief. Jensen was about to measure his length on the threadbare carpet as the support from the door was taken from him, and Steve cursed as he reached to grab him and stop his downward progress.

“Come on, Jen, let’s get you horizontal.” Fortunately, it was only three steps to the bed, because it seemed that Jensen had relapsed into unconsciousness once again, and Steve was practically carrying him as they staggered together to collapse onto it.

He thought about moving, he really did. He thought about getting up and going to the couch, but somehow it didn’t seem worth the trouble. He paused to toe off his shoes and then succumbed to the need for sleep.

Steve had no idea what time it was when he finally woke up. The sun was no longer in his eyes, and, although daylight still gleamed offensively past Jensen’s thin curtains, it was obviously no longer morning. Jensen was curled up against him, his arm thrown over Steve’s chest, and his cheek pressed against the sleeve of his T-shirt. It was sweet in a way. However, his mouth tasted as if he’d been chewing dogshit, and his head still throbbed as if his brain had somehow shrunk enough to rattle around inside his skull.

He made to get off the bed, and there was a muffled protest from the young man beside him. Jensen raised his head a little and fixed him with a beseeching gaze. He could feel his willpower leaving him. “Come on, Jen, you gotta let me up to go rinse out my mouth and take a leak.”

The pout Jensen displayed was truly monumental. “Got water in the fridge,” he murmured, voice husky with too much booze and not enough recovery time. “Bring us some?”

Nodding and then regretting it as he felt his brain threaten to leak out his ears, Steve rolled to sitting and then gingerly stood up. “Bathroom first,” he croaked. “Can I borrow your toothbrush?”

“Only if you bring me water.” Jensen moaned as he lay back against the pillows. “Smells like you now. Nice,” he mumbled.

Carefully keeping his head as still as he possibly could, Steve stumbled out to find Jensen’s bathroom. The fallen body in the living room seemed to have gone elsewhere. Steve looked at the couch, wondering if it had devoured the hapless drunk. 

Rinsing out his mouth and emptying his bladder made him feel a little better. He brushed his teeth and rinsed his head under the cold-water tap, then shambled off in search of the water Jensen promised was in the fridge.

Returning to the bedroom, Steve paused in the doorway, taking in the young man lying on the bed — they’d neither of them managed to undress or get under the covers before crashing out, and Jensen was still wearing his jeans and tight T-shirt, although somewhere along the line he’d shed his footwear. He looked debauched, mouth loose and puffy, and eyes glazed as he lay sprawled out on the coverlet. As Steve stepped in towards the bed, he lifted his head and reached out with a trembling hand for the bottle in Steve’s hand, taking it from him and then fumbling as he tried to unscrew the cap. 

“Give it here,” husked Steve, amusement in his voice as he took the bottle back and opened it for Jensen. The beaming smile with which he was gifted almost made up for the hangover he had, and he reached to touch Jensen’s shoulder affectionately before clearing his throat. “Guess I’ll be on my way. I need at least another four hours of sleep, and you look totally wrecked.”

“No!” Jensen reached to grip Steve’s wrist and tug him back towards the bed. “Stay here with me. We can get some more sleep. You shouldn’t drive.” 

It was true; Steve knew that. He was still drunk, and if he left, he ran the risk of getting picked up by the cops, but he was nervous. Jensen was right here, right now, inviting him into something he didn’t know if he could handle.

He meant to say ‘see you later.’ He meant to turn out and walk out the door, maybe take a nosedive onto the newly vacated couch for an hour or so. Instead, he found himself nodding and peeling off his jeans and dress shirt before climbing into the bed beside a beaming Jensen, clad only in his Calvin Kleins.

The bed was comfortable, and Jensen snuggled up against his side as the two of them drifted off into healing slumber.

The sun was on its way down by the time Steve came to again. He was disoriented, dehydrated and desperate to pee. Jensen was wrapped around him as if he were the kid’s favorite cuddly toy, and Steve struggled to escape the all-encompassing embrace before he exploded.

Squirming out of the bed, Steve fled to the bathroom to take care of his bladder and paused to drink several glasses of water and borrow Jensen’s toothbrush. Casting a frowning look towards the shower, he finally shrugged, deciding that it would be better to ask for forgiveness — rather than permission — later. Reaching forward to turn on the water, he waited, feeling the temperature and hoping that it would warm up a little. “Fucking rental places,” he growled to himself when that didn’t happen. Finally, he stepped under the tepid trickle that emerged from the showerhead and began to wash.

Jensen’s shampoo smelled of herbs, and Steve closed his eyes as he worked it into his hair. An image of Jensen floated before his inner eye — soft, tender mouth, lips parted and teeth white behind them, thick, dark lashes curling to veil the brilliance of almond shaped eyes, and the dusting of freckles that trailed over the slight unevenness of his nose. He’d never considered a relationship with a guy before. When you’re a musician, there’s never any shortage of willing girls, but Jensen was… different. Jensen was vulnerable, and funny, and talented, and far more beautiful than any of the girls he’d been with.

Rinsing his hair free of the shampoo, he decided that if Jensen was still in bed when he was done with his shower, he’d join him and see what it was like to change his luck. If he’d gotten up, then that would be the sign that he should stay carefully hetero. He really wasn’t sure which way he wanted things to go.

He took his time. He toweled himself dry, dried his hair with the dryer that was laid neatly on the cabinet beside the washstand, and then wrapped the towel around his waist and went back into the bedroom.

Jensen was awake, and his eyes weren’t quite closed. Steve felt a flood of adrenaline hit, followed by a disturbing, tingling heat that tightened his groin and made his breathing faster, harder to manage.

So, he was going to change his luck. He was going to do this. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and Jensen turned his face to study him. “You look clean,” he murmured, voice still sleep-slurred. “Thanks for staying with me. I should have a shower.” He reached a hand over to the nightstand, fumbling for a cigarette, and Steve gave him a sharp-toothed grin. 

“You were so trashed last night,” he murmured. “It was the least I could do.” 

“You turned me down. I remember that.” Jensen studied the empty pack that had held his smokes. “In a way, I don’t blame you.”

“Couldn’t take advantage of you like that. Wouldn’t be right.” Steve gently took the package out of Jensen’s hands and tossed it onto the floor. “You’re sober now, though, aren’t you?” he asked, and felt that liquid flicker way down and dirty as he saw Jensen’s eyes rise to meet his own.

“Sure am,” nodded Jensen with a grimace. “I’m remorseful as hell, because Jack Daniels only ever pretends to be a friend of mine.”

“So, you still wanna get it on with me?” Steve found himself holding his breath, until the sight of the smile that spread across Jensen’s face knocked it out of him. That smile was a definite yes, and Steve didn’t wait. If he’d waited, he’d have chickened out, but Jensen’s mouth was right there, lips moist and juicy caught against pearly teeth. He bent and applied his own to them, feeling their softness as he crushed his mouth against them.

In all his time doing the LA club circuit, Steve had met many women; He’d even fallen for one or two of them. None of his past romances prepared him for Jensen — for the feel of him, warm and pliant against his aching body, or for the taste of him, needy and demanding, urging him on to things he’d never done before, things he’d never even considered doing with another man. Somehow the fact that it was Jensen made it all amazingly, perfectly right.

“Oh, yeah, right there!” Jensen’s voice, usually deep and slow, was rising to a higher register as he begged Steve, pleaded with him in a way that girls usually didn’t. He had his hand on Jensen’s cock, fingers slip-sliding the sticky length of it as he kissed and bit, hard and urgent and altogether out of control.

Jensen matched him, gasping and wanton, and it was refreshing in a way to get down to the basics, each taking what they needed without apology or blame. When they were done, and he was gazing in awe at Jensen, who was looking back at him adoringly in his turn, his come trickling from the sides of that sweet, tender mouth, it suddenly dawned on him that he wouldn’t be able to do without this, now that he’d found it.

“Wanted you so bad,” mumbled Jensen, licking around his lips in an effort to clean his face of residue. “Ever since I first saw you there in the club singing ’Dynamite’, I wanted you.”

“You never said,” said Steve, brow furrowed as he tried to think back over the last year of living in each other’s pockets. Jensen had given him no indication that he was anything but a charming, red-blooded Texas boy. There had been girls from time to time, and on one momentous occasion Jensen had brought three of them home at once, triplets with bouncy pony tails and equally bouncy breasts. Steve had lost sleep that night, and lain awake wondering who was doing what to whom. The girls had gone when he turned up at Jensen’s the following morning, but Steve’s imagination had run wild for weeks afterwards mentally picturing his roommate in amongst the prettiest group of girls he’d ever seen. Now everything he’d tried not to dream of was coming true, and he couldn’t stop grinning.

“Didn’t seem to be any point,” said Jensen, smiling lazily up at Steve, fingers carding through his still-damp hair. “I thought you were into chicks to the exclusion of everything. I only made a play for you because I was toasted.” He chuckled and lifted his face for a slow, wet kiss. “Alcohol is awesome. I’d never have dreamed you’d want me without my friend Jack.”

“I think I’ve wanted you since the day we met.” Steve’s voice was husky and unsure, because this was a new concept for him, but his words seemed to please Jensen, who pulled him down for another round of sex that just about blew the top of his skull off.

That was the start of it all. Looking back, Steve thought he should have done many things differently. He should have been more… something — maybe harder, less inclined to put his heart on the line. But this was Jensen, and Jensen had a way of hitting you smack in the gut, beguiling a man with his wide eyes and his cupid’s bow and his stupid, girly freckles. It’s easy to be wise after the fact.

To tell the truth, he’d been a goner from the day they’d met, and, even though he’d always thought himself strictly heterosexual, he couldn’t get enough of Jensen, and Jensen, despite his stunning beauty, was anything but feminine.

For a while, the two of them were inseparable. Jensen and he sang together, played together, spent all their spare time together, and every night Steve lost himself in the sticky bliss afforded by Jensen’s warm arms, hard body and soft, plush lips. 

Jensen was working steadily, and Steve was slowly getting his band known. As he did from time to time when finances needed topping up, Steve took a day job as a PA on one of the many shows that were being produced in and around Los Angeles. As he was led into the studio to be shown the ropes by one of the assistant producers, he didn’t realize just how his life would change.

“Okay,” the skinny woman with the clipboard turned to him. “This is the guy you’re going to be taking over from. He’s leaving us next week, so you don’t have much lead time. He’ll show you what to do.”

Turning on her heel, she dashed away, leaving Steve with no further introduction. Shrugging helplessly, Steve gave the guy a smile and held out his hand. “Name’s Steve,” he said.

“Good to meet ya. I’m Christian.” The stocky guy with the intense blue eyes slapped Steve’s palm and gestured for him to come and take a look at the call sheets he had in his hand.

“That your name? You ain’t born again or anything, are you?” Steve’s words were overlaid by a snort of laughter from the other man.

“Once was quite enough,” Christian said, smirking. “C’mon. I’ll show you the ropes. It’s not exactly rocket science, but you have to jump when they want something, or you’ll soon be out on your ear.” 

Swiftly showing Steve the headset and the radio that he would wear at all times when on duty, Chris took him on the coffee run that was demanded a few minutes later. When they had a moment to themselves, Chris showed him the little ‘nest’ he’d created for himself in amongst the spare flats and coils of cable that were strewn around the side of the set. He’d snagged a director’s chair, and a cart that still held some audio/visual equipment along with cans of soda and platters of food. As the two of them popped the tabs on cans of coke, Steve’s eyes were drawn to a guitar that was propped up behind the chair.

“You play?” he murmured, indicating the battered old Harmony Sovereign. 

“You betcha ass, surfer boy. Why d’you ask? You play too?” Christian gave a low laugh, and Steve, who was beginning to like the guy, nodded enthusiastically.

“We should jam,” Steve said, reaching for the guitar and strumming it gently, eyes closed as he listened to the tone. “Nice sound, but the action’s a little high for me,” he said, deftly tuning it up and launching into “Radio in my Head.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Christian was grinning now. “We should jam, for sure.”

The addition of Christian Kane to their lives brought about a whole new level of fun and terror for Steve. Chris was a daredevil, short tempered but readily forgiving, who threw his whole self into whatever he decided to attempt.

He’d departed from his role as a PA the following week, leaving Steve with the words, “Don’t take no shit from nobody, son. If they give you hassle, tell them to shut the fuck up, and you’ll do good.”

Gone from the workplace he may have been, but his presence in their lives was constant. Steve and he were now playing together on a regular basis, writing songs and even performing once in a while. When he was inclined, Jensen joined in, lending his sweet voice to harmonies that made Steve shudder with delight.

Steve had introduced Chris to Jensen soon after they’d met, and Chris’s first meeting with his actor friend was the stuff of legend. Chris, hair newly shorn and tamed for his role as Lindsey on Angel, stood and stared at Jensen for entirely too long, and Jensen, who hated to be the subject of that kind of scrutiny, had begun to bristle. When Chris finally opened his mouth to speak, he gave a low whistle. “Well, will ya lookit that. Ain’t you a pretty thing?”

Jensen’s eyes widened, and, for a moment, Steve contemplated running for the hills, and then, miraculously, his eyes crinkled in a smile, and finally he and Chris started to laugh together.

“Shut the fuck up,” was all Jensen said, and it was apparently enough for them to bond. 

Steve lived increasingly for his music, although Chris had begun to accompany him and Jensen on forays down to the beach. After a particularly exhilarating day surfing, Chris, who had wiped out rather more than he’d managed to stand up on the board, had elbowed Steve with a grin as they made their way back to Steve’s car.

“I can introduce you to another sport,” he announced. Chris, despite the disreputable cut-offs he was wearing, still somehow managed to look as though he might be a professional of some kind, chilling out on his day off with his preppy hairstyle and carefully manicured nails a la Lindsey.

“Oh, yeah?” Steve wasn’t really listening. His board shorts were stiff with sand and his chest and shoulders were tanned deep, golden brown. He was bopping along to the music that seemed to run constantly through his head and humming softly under his breath. It was left to Jensen to ask him for more details.

“Hood surfing! It’s a complete rush, man.” Chris began to tell Jensen about it, and Steve’s heart sank as he saw Jensen’s eyes begin to sparkle dangerously. 

“Are you crazy?” The inquiry was lazy, but Steve was wary; he’d come to know Jensen, and he knew that despite the man’s reserved manner there was a devil of mischief inside the handsome young actor. 

“It’s the only way to be, son,” smirked Chris. “C’mon, man. Let me show you how it’s done.”

The drive up Mulholland was something Steve would remember to his dying day. Chris, holding onto the hood of Steve’s car, emitting cackles of crazy laughter as Jensen drove them up the winding roadway as fast as the elderly vehicle would go.

It seemed as though Christian Kane didn’t waste any time in invading their little group and becoming an integral part of it. It soon dawned on Steve that he was rapidly being supplanted in Jensen’s affections by the rough and ready Kane. His adrenaline junkie ways seemed to entertain the young actor in ways that laid-back Steve didn’t seem to know how to mimic. He and Jensen still shared a bed, still woke up tangled together, and their lovemaking was still as hot as ever, but deep down Steve knew that Jensen, easy lover that he was, would give it up to Chris sooner or later.

Steve had never had much luck in love, and he’d fallen hard for Jensen. Watching Chris sniff around him was breaking his heart, although he knew better than to say anything. In all honesty there was nothing for him to say. Jensen was his own man, and his choices were law.

On a rare evening alone with Jensen, he decided to broach the conversation he’d been dreading. Jensen was dressed in wife-beater and ratty shorts, lounging barefoot on the couch, beer at his side as he wielded the remote, looking through the channels for something — anything — worth watching.

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off Jensen, and Jensen must have known somehow, because after a moment he set the remote down and raised his eyes to Steve’s, flicking back the hair that threatened to flop into his eyes.

“What?” His mouth curved seductively, and Steve felt himself shiver with the need to touch, to bite into that succulent lower lip and shut his worries away. He must have paused for way too long because the little half smile slowly faded from Jensen’s face, and he frowned. “C’mere,” he murmured, holding his hand out to Steve in invitation ,and Steve went, moving automatically to slide onto the couch beside Jensen, hunger in his eyes and hands clenched with the need to prevent himself from reaching out to hold him.

Jensen slid his arm around Steve’s shoulder and pulled him back to lie against his chest. “You think too much, man. Tell me what you’re brooding about.” He bent to run his lips over Steve’s ear and down until Steve could feel his tongue tip trace along his throat.

“You… You and Chris.” Steve knew he was being needy, but he couldn’t stop. “Feels like I’m gonna lose you.”

He felt rather than saw Jensen’s smile against his neck. For a moment or two Jensen didn’t speak, and when he did, his voice was deep and soft and all the things that Steve loved most about him. “I like Chris, y’know. He’s not afraid to ask for things.” Jensen sucked a bruise into the delicate skin below Steve’s ear. “But I’m not afraid to say no, either.” As Steve turned to look at Jensen, the young man smiled his eye crinkling smile, and Steve no longer cared about Chris, or losing Jensen, or anything except for the soft, plush mouth on his flesh, and the delicate fingers teasing and stroking him towards orgasm.

It was only after they’d spent themselves and lay together recovering that Jensen pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead and whispered, “Got a part in a TV series up in Vancouver. Gonna be out of town for a week, but I ain’t goin’ with Christian.”

And for a moment, Steve forgot his fears, because this was Jensen, right here in his arms, and possession was nine tenths of the law, right? Closing his eyes, he snuggled in close to Jensen’s side and dozed a little, waking only when Jensen shook him and suggested that they head for bed.

It was only a week and a half later that Jensen departed for Canada, and for Steve it seemed as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. Chris wasn’t working just then, and he came over, bringing his guitar with him, but for the couple of weeks that Jensen was up in the north, filming, he felt like he was missing a vital part of himself.

Chris mocked him for being a whiny bitch, and Steve laughed, understood where the man was coming from, but reserved the right to miss Jensen horribly. When he thought about Jensen, he wondered if he’d ever see him again as if Canada might have swallowed him whole, engulfed and digested him so that they would never have another time together. Jensen called him a couple of times, talking about the excitement of being in a James Cameron production, but Steve could read between the lines. Jensen wasn’t really having fun.

As it happened, it was Chris who picked him up from the airport the day he got back into L.A. Steve couldn’t make it because his mom had summoned him. She was feeling unwell, and he’d spent the day making chicken soup and coddling her. Returning home in the middle of the evening, he’d heard the music before he even opened the door, and when he finally got inside Chris and Jensen were harmonizing on an old Willie Nelson song.

Jensen looked tired, but his eyes were closed, his head back as he sang the high harmony against Chris’s growling vocals, and Steve’s belly did a little flip, tightening up his gut and sending messages low down to harden him. For a moment he fought hard to resist the arousal before mentally uttering a curse and giving it up as a bad job.

Without disturbing them, he crept around to find his own guitar and swiftly strummed it, tightening his E string and then moving in to play a few glides and runs around the song they were singing.

They sounded good together, the three of them, and Steve would have given anything if he could’ve just kept on making music all night, but the song was over all too soon, and Chris gave him a smirk while Jensen offered him the bottle of Jack.

“Hey, Jen, how was your trip?”

“James Cameron, dude!” Jensen’s smile was blinding. “I’m tellin’ ya, it doesn’t get much better than that.”


	3. Chasing Dreams for Everyone But Me

By the time Jared had collected his thoughts and headed back out to find his party, Jensen had left the building, hustled away by Steve and Danneel. He was about to leave himself when he caught sight of Riley still leaning up against the bar, apparently happily basking in the glow of a successful evening. Frowning a little, Jared snagged a highball from the tray of a passing waiter and made his way over to join him.

"Hey." Jared leaned up against the bar, sliding in next to the diminutive actor/singer. Riley turned to greet him, the beaming smile on his face swiftly fading as he realized just who had joined him.

He didn't speak, merely nodding as he raised his eyes to meet Jared's, the cold expression on his face making Jared's heart sink.

"I won't keep you, man." Jared dove into the silence, trying to keep Riley from cutting him dead. "Just wanted to add my congratulations to the band. Jensen couldn't have done it without you guys." He drew a deep breath as he waited to see what Riley's reaction might be. They'd been friends once — even co-starred in that dumb movie with the Olsens together. If anyone was going to let him in and break the code of hostile silence that had been the norm since the night of the accident, it would be Riley.

"Yeah, thanks." The words were curt, unlike the garrulous Riley that Jared had always known. Riley was turning away when Jared put his hand out to grab the man's shoulder.

"Wait." He hadn't meant to beg, but he heard the word emerge from his mouth as if it were from someone else, plaintive and needy. His encounter with Jensen had rattled him to his very core, and he wanted — desperately needed — to start rebuilding the bridges that had gone up in flames that dreadful night that had changed their lives forever.

"What do you want from me, Jared?" Riley sounded tired rather than hostile now, and Jared felt a little beacon of hope flare somewhere in his chest.

"I just want to talk, be friends again. I want to tell my story — to know what Danni said about me that turned you all against me the way it did. I want..."

"You know what you did — what you said." There was a bitterness in Riley's voice. "You have no idea what it did to Jensen to find out how you felt about him."

"That's just it. I don't know what I’m supposed to have said." Jared felt himself tear up and averted his face, hoping to goodness that nobody in the still-busy marquee had noticed his sudden surge of emotion.

"Look, Jay, I ain't about to start talking behind anyone's back." The little singer appeared to come to a decision of some kind. He glanced down to where Jared's large hand was splayed across his jacket, and Jared swallowed as he let it fall away.

"Sorry, I just..." Jared was turning to go himself now, convinced that his pathetic attempt at breaking through the wall of silence that had been erected since the accident had failed. He stopped dead in his tracks as he heard Riley's voice again. 

"Hey, listen, Jay, gimme your number. I'll see what I can do."

For a moment, Riley's words didn't compute, and then a tide of relief washed through Jared, turning him first cold then hot as his body registered what had been said even before his brain had unscrambled it. He fumbled for the phone that Riley was extending to him and almost dropped it, hands shaking as he programmed his phone number into Riley's directory. He murmured his thanks as he gave it back to Riley, who took it without another word and turned away as he slipped it back into his pocket.

Jared watched him go, brain buzzing with the events of the evening, and was about to seek the exit himself when Misha caught up with him, expansive smile on his lips as he introduced a leggy brunette who turned out to be yet another teen mag reporter wanting an interview and, it seemed, possibly more as she batted her lashes at him and licked her lips. He dropped neatly into his public persona, politely fending off her attempts at intimacy with the kind of easy charm that would leave her thinking he'd treated her well. By the time he'd finished telling her about his creative processes, while avoiding any possible discussion about the night of the accident that had changed all their lives, his head was pounding and he felt sick to his stomach.

At first, Misha was not inclined to let him leave. The opportunity to garner publicity was, to him, far too valuable to turn down, and it was only when Meghan pointed out that he was looking visibly green under his tan that the manager relented and called for Jared's driver.

Outside, the air was thick and thundery, and even though the sun had long since set, the heat in the air made Jared's shirt stick to his skin. He was grateful to be able to slide into the waiting limo and sit back in the air-conditioned silence, alone at last with his chosen means of self-medication. As he reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat waiting for him, the memory of Jensen's body against his as they rolled around on the tiled floor of the men's restroom rose to taunt him, and with a half-choked sound of distress, Jared unscrewed the cap, raised the bottle to his lips and chugged.

By the time the car reached his house out in Studio City, he'd forgotten all about the evening's triumph, Misha's efforts on his behalf, his own name, and, in fact, everything except for the way Jensen had felt.

His dreams that night were disturbingly, joyfully wet.

The following morning, he woke with a pounding headache and an erection that was so hard it was almost numb.

Rolling out of the bed and staggering out to the bathroom, he dry-swallowed four aspirin and turned on the shower, stepping in as the cold water began to flow and cursing fervently as the shock of it began to chase the cobwebs from his brain.

Half an hour later, clean and clad in his most comfortable jeans and T-shirt, he'd succeeded in beating back the hangover a little, chased it away by the brutal application of caffeine, aspirin, and grim determination. He had nothing planned until the recording session that was booked for later that afternoon, and he was about to pour himself another coffee and retire to his music room with his guitar to try and finish off one last song for the new album he was putting together.

His phone rang. It would be Misha, he was sure, anxious to meet so they could discuss his interminable plans for capitalizing on his win the previous evening. He let it ring for a moment while he made his way through to the room where he kept his guitar and recording equipment, and almost let it go to voicemail.

It shrilled once again, and sighing, he pulled it from his pocket. It was a number he hadn't seen before and he flipped it to his ear, jamming it between ear and shoulder as he reached for his guitar, intent on telling the reporter or whoever it was that they could shove it; he wasn't interested.

He wasn't prepared for Jensen's voice on the other end of the line, but the well remembered rasp that had always betrayed when Jensen was feeling nervous greeted him now. "Jay? That you? I got the right number, right?"

Jared shook himself, almost tripped over the pile of music books he'd left stacked in the middle of the floor, and sank down onto a stool, trying his damnedest not to let the phone slip from its position. "Jen? Is that you? "

"Yeah, it's me. Riley told me you wanted to talk to me, and I thought that I'd give you a call, find out where you wanted me to send the stuff I have of yours from when they packed up my things after they told me you bailed on me." Jensen's voice sounded flat, and Jared could picture him. This was Jensen at his most arrogant sounding, and Jared knew that inside the man would be cringing at his own temerity.

"I didn't bail," he said softly. "I never did. They moved you somewhere and didn't tell me where. By the time I regained consciousness you were gone." He paused. "It was a week before they let me out of the hospital, and I never stopped looking for you until Danni came by and delivered your message."

There was a pause, and when Jensen spoke, it was almost too quiet to hear. "Oh, yeah?"

"It was only when she told me what you'd said that I gave up trying to find you. I thought I was gonna die for a week or two. I bought a gun and used to fantasize about just blowing my brains out, but I guess I was too much of a coward." Jared paused, set his coffee down on the floor, and rose to his feet so he could pace. "I just climbed inside a bottle of Jack Daniels and didn't come out for a year instead. I missed you so much. I couldn't believe that you'd just turned away from everything we had together. We were going to be together forever, and then you were gone." 

His words seemed to echo into a silence broken only by the sound of his feet as he shuffled back and forth across the hardwood. When Jensen finally spoke again, it was to say, "I suppose we should meet — get a few things straightened out, shouldn't we?"

"I'd say!" There was a certain undertone of sarcasm in Jared's voice, but Jensen didn't appear to notice.

"It had better be somewhere we don't usually go, or the reporters will get involved and that will be that." The rough edge was back in Jensen's voice. "You know Maggiano's at The Grove? You wanna meet there for... for lunch?"

The flood of warmth that washed through Jared almost made him stumble back. "You... I... what time?" he croaked, brain freewheeling as he heard the words he'd never thought possible again.

"I'll be there at 1 p.m., okay?" Jensen paused, and Jared was about to start babbling his thanks, when he spoke again. "Danni's got an appointment at that time, and I can walk from the apartment."

"I'll be there, I promise." There was a sharp click as Jensen hung up the phone, leaving Jared standing, staring into space as his heartbeat pounded a tattoo on the inside of his chest.

The fountains at The Grove were dancing when Jared walked through from the Farmer's Market, looking for Maggiano's. He'd told Jensen he knew it, but in fact, he had no idea where it was, and he was hoping it wasn't too difficult to find. As usual, the sky was cloudless, and as Jared passed the fountains, the fine spray from them was welcome on his overheated skin.

Spying the restaurant at last, he jogged the rest of the way across the courtyard, narrowly avoiding the little old tram that was steadily winding its way down the track toward the mall with its payload of tourists.

The restaurant itself was in full swing, with diners chattering noisily as they ate, drank, laughed, and generally filled the room with the buzz of conversation. Jensen had already arrived; looking around; Jared could see him, his gaze drawn to the other singer as if by some immutable law.

Standing on the threshold, Jared could feel his heart stutter in his chest as he found and held Jensen's eyes. Stumbling forward, he went to join him, sending up a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening that this would resolve whatever circumstances had led to their estrangement.

"Hello." He stood beside the table, still drinking Jensen in with his eyes. Jensen studied Jared in turn, eyes wide and brow creased as he took in the way Jared was dancing from foot to foot.

"Jesus! Sit down, Jared, you make the place look untidy," murmured Jensen, his mouth crooked into the lop-sided smile he favored when he was in public.

Nodding, Jared took his seat opposite the other man. Jensen wore a pair of ripped and faded jeans and a T-shirt that announced some long-ago Metallica tour. His stick rested beside his chair, ornately carved and inlaid with silver. He wasn't wearing all the stage make-up he had at the awards ceremony, and Jared could see new lines around Jensen's mouth — lines that spoke of pain endured, and which had been masked by the cosmetics he'd worn onstage. "It's so good to see you, Jen. I can't even begin to tell you what this means to me."

"Riley told me you were asking for me to call you. I couldn't quite work out why you suddenly changed your mind. I'm still a cripple, Jared; I always will be." Jensen's face had shut down, his eyes had skittered away from his to fix on his fingers, which were twisting together in a way that tore at Jared's heartstrings. Reaching forward, he laid his hand over Jensen's to stop them from their constant movement.

"Why do you suppose that would bother me even for a moment?" The words were thick on Jared's tongue as he tried desperately to convey to Jensen everything that he felt.  
Jensen's eyes opened wide, his mouth opening in a soundless O. "But you said..."

And Jared lost his temper. "That's just it. I didn't say a fucking thing. Someone said it for me, and they lied. Who was it? Danni? I bet it was Danni. What did she say? Come on, Jen, tell me. All this time, and nobody would talk to me. I'm the only one in the fucking world who doesn't know what I was supposed to have said."

"She said that you didn't want anything to do with a cripple." Jensen's nose had turned pink, and Jared could tell that he was upset. His first thought was to jump up and start yelling, but this was Jensen, and he was right here, talking to him at last, and the last thing Jared wanted to do was drive him away. He swallowed back the obscenities that had leapt to his tongue and squeezed the hand he was still holding.

"She lied," he murmured. "Why would she have done that?"

Jensen had huddled into himself, and Jared was about to start talking about what his experiences with Danni had been when the server arrived to take their order. It was a few minutes before they were free to talk again, and by that time Jared's anger had receded, leaving him with just a desperate urge to set things right with Jensen, and an even greater one to see Danneel get her just desserts. He cleared his throat.

"Why don't I tell you what happened from my perspective?" he murmured, and Jensen, frowning, nodded.

"I think you'd better," he murmured. "I'm confused now about what you did say. Danni was so upset..." His voice trailed away, and Jared, whose anger had been starting to rise again, gave himself a shake.

"As you know, I was up in the front of the bus with Chris when it happened. He was flyin' high, completely out of it from whatever he'd been sniffing, an' I was trying to persuade him to pull over and let me drive. You were sleeping like a baby across the back seat, and Steve was carrying on some discussion with David and Jason about the middle break for 'You Belong to Me.' I'd been getting more and more worried about Chris's driving — he was swerving from side to side and laughing, and I put my hand on the wheel." Jared swallowed, memories of that last moment when things might have changed flooding his mind. "I guess that in a way, Danni was right, because it might not have gone the way it did if I'd kept my hands to myself. Chris wrenched the wheel hard, and we went careening through the median and down into the oncoming traffic. All I remember before the lights went out is that Chris was laughing." 

Reaching for his glass of water, Jared paused. Jensen was still frowning, but he said nothing, merely gestured for Jared to go on.

"I don't know much about the accident after that. I woke up in the hospital five days later with my arm in a cast, and there was a letter from Danni that told me you blamed me for the crash, and that I shouldn't ever try to contact you again. I tried to call, but everyone's numbers had been changed, and it was like there was a conspiracy of silence over the whole thing. Someone had been to the house and moved all your stuff out, and it was kinda like you'd never existed. For weeks, I couldn't even function. I didn't hear about Chris's funeral until well after the fact."

The frown was still on Jensen's face, and his eyes had glazed over as if he were seeing something a long way in the distance. It was at that moment that the server descended on them with their entrees, and the two of them said nothing more as they began to eat. Jared's lasagna disappeared swiftly, and after a while, Jensen wordlessly pushed his Eggplant Parmesan over for him to finish off, for all the world as if they had never separated.

Full at last, Jared dared meet Jensen's eyes again. "So, what happened? How come you disappeared from my life? I never understood how you could just vanish so completely. There was a time when I really seriously thought about killing myself rather than go on without you."

"It... it's complicated." Jensen nodded, then shrugged, apparently trying to order his words. "I was kept medicated for a while until they'd finished the surgeries I needed on my spine. I know they moved me to a hospital in Chicago, because that was supposed to be the best place for spinal cord injuries, and at first they said I'd never walk again." He reached for the glass of wine that he so far hadn't touched, sipping at it as if trying to postpone further disclosures. Waiting as patiently as he could, Jared drank in the sight of him and ruthlessly suppressed his need to move, tap, and twitch, afraid that if he drew attention to himself that Jensen would call the meeting short. When Jensen began to talk again Jared felt a flood of relief that made him shiver.

"At first it was all hazy because I was medicated, and they were giving me all kinds of therapy. It was hard to tell what day it was because everything hurt. I had the surgeries and then some shots that they said might help. I missed Chris's funeral too, although Steve told me about it. Funny… I couldn't accept that he was gone and kept on asking for him. I think that Steve especially wanted to just choke the shit out of me. I kept on asking for Chris, and for you. When Danni told me that you'd left me — that you couldn't bear to be saddled with a cripple — it was like my life was over." Jensen's mouth quivered, and he drank half of his wine as he gathered himself together again. "I guess it did the trick though, because what she said made me determined to walk again, just to show you!"

"I loved you; I don't think I've ever stopped loving you, Jen. If I'd known..." There was a lump in Jared's throat as he reached across the table to touch Jensen's cheek. "I think we need to have a talk with Danni; don't you?"

Flushing, Jensen lowered his gaze, eyes skittering away as Jared's words soaked in. "Like I said; it's complicated," he mumbled. "She and I... she was so supportive, so helpful after the crash. I owe her..."

"She lied. She broke us apart, and she almost succeeded in making sure we never had a chance to patch up our differences." Jared was angry — the thought that someone they trusted had cold-bloodedly manipulated them made him want to find her and beat her until she confessed. "Why aren't you just calling for her blood, like I am?"

The flush that had colored Jensen's cheeks was suddenly a crimson tide that stained him from ears to neck. "I... we... we got engaged. We're supposed to be getting married in May."

"And you aren't going to ask her what the _fuck_ she thought she was doing?" Jared had raised his voice, and there was a sudden unfortunate silence in the busy restaurant as diners turned to see who was making the fuss. Angrier than ever, he leaned in towards his ex-lover and hissed, "Aren't you even going to ask her about it?"  
He waved the waiter over and fished out his credit card, asking for the check to be expedited, and Jensen, face pale as he looked on, suddenly pushed himself to his feet. 

"I'm gonna ask her about it, for sure," he said. "I hope you'll give me the time I need to do so."

The fury left Jared again abruptly, and he sat, wrung out, watching as Jensen bent to retrieve his stick. "Don't go, Jen; please don't go?"

"I have to, Jay. I need to get to the bottom of this. Listen, I have your number now. I'll call you once I've talked to her. Can you give me a little time?" And Jensen looked like a little boy, all wide eyes and bee-stung lips as he stood anxiously waiting for Jared's response. "I promise I'll call you tonight, okay?"

It would have to be okay; it was the best he was going to get. Jared nodded, then rose to his feet and stood, unsure of how to draw this meeting to a close. "You know where I live," he murmured. "Wanna come over instead of calling?"

A dimple peeped, and Jensen nodded. "Guess I should check if you've kept it the way it was, or if you've imported a whole menagerie of rescue dogs or something. I'll call you, okay?"

Placing one hand on Jared's shoulder to steady himself, he raised himself up to plant a chaste kiss on Jared's lips, but before Jared could respond, the waiter returned with his card and the check for signature, and by the time he was done, Jensen was gone.


	4. To Ease This Precious Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared joins the Band

****

_"I'll phone you tonight."_

As Jared made his way over to the recording studio, he was feeling nervous and antsy. Jensen didn't hate him. Jensen had listened to what he had to say, and he was going to challenge Danneel and find out what was going on. 

He'd promised to call Jared, and when he finally did, he didn't say very much, merely promised to come over later that evening.

The recording session dragged on, and although he usually loved laying down tracks, his mind was on other things. He found it hard to concentrate on anything but the way Jensen had looked. His skin still tingled from that brief touch of lips, and he just wanted to go home, dig out all their old music vids and jerk off to the memory of the way that Jensen felt against him, still hearing in his head the soft sounds he used to make when they made love.

"Earth to Jared?" The words boomed through his headphones, making him jump and flail.

"Seriously, Connor, What the fuck?" Broken out of his daydream, Jared frowned as he realized that the backing track had already reached the middle eight, and he had missed his cue. 

"Jay, we've only got the studio for another 90 minutes. If we don't get this down there's going to be a problem, because you know Eisman's out of the country after Monday, and he was gonna do a rush on mixing for you as a favor." Connor's words hit home, and Jared nodded, for the moment contrite. 

"Sorry, man. Let's go again. I'll get it this time." Connor didn't say a word, but the sound of the lap steel that introduced the song came through his cans once more. This time Jared didn't miss, his voice hitting the harmonies dead on as the song progressed through.

"We've got one more if you're up to it," said Connor. "I think that one's good. What about we finish up that cover you were thinking of putting on the album? Hard Sun?" He started to load up the tracks. "The backing is pretty much done. We just need you to voice it."

"No." Jared reached for his acoustic guitar. "I wrote one last night, and it just fell into place. It doesn't need any double tracking or fancy backing. Just me and the guitar will be fine."

Connor fidgeted with his controls for a minute or two and then nodded. "Okay, Jay, sing it through once so I can get the balance, and then we'll cut it."

The song was completely outside of Jared's usual hard rocking style, and as he played through it, he felt tears rising to his eyes giving a touch of longing to his voice. Once he finished, he heard applause coming from the observation window where Misha and Connor had been joined by the reporter that had interviewed him at the Grammy night after-party.

"Okay. I'm going to put a bit of an echo on it." Connor was enthusiastic. "It'll make the whole thing sound a little more lonesome. What do you think?" 

"Yeah." Jared cocked his head to one side as he thought it through. "Make it as lonesome as you like. I want it to sound as if my heart aches." He played a little riff on his guitar. "I guess it's self-indulgent, but I want it on the album."

The engineer busied himself with dials and gauges for a few minutes and then elbowed Jared in the ribs. "Take a listen now. Tell me if it works for you."

He'd added a touch of echo, as he'd promised, and he'd done something to enhance the guitar, so that it wailed behind Jared's soft vocals. The result was, as Connor had promised, atmospheric and lonesome.

As he laid his headphones to one side and went out to join the others, Misha grabbed him and twirled him around. "That's got to be the first single off the album, Jay. It'll go to number one, I guarantee it."

The reporter, who introduced herself as Sandra McCoy, nodded with great enthusiasm. "You should do more like that. I love your hard rocking stuff, but that was just..." She gave a little sigh with her hand over her heart. "That one was different. Better."

Jared shot her a smile, and she beamed back at him, pretty eyes crinkled up in honest enjoyment. He thought to himself right then that he would love to get to know her if his head were in a better space.

"Thanks," he murmured. "Gimme your number, and I'll make sure you get a copy of the album as soon as it's pressed."

"That'd be lovely," she said. "But I'd rather have an interview with you." She opened her eyes wide, pleading, and he laughed.

"You know, people accuse me of using that look to get my way. It's not often I meet another master of the art." He decided that he liked her. She seemed open and honest — at least as honest as any reporter could be. He'd avoided reporters ever since the accident, but Misha had been pushing him hard to get his name out there, and he thought that he could possibly trust her. "If I were to say yes, would I get final approval on what you publish?"

Her face fell. "Hell, no! I mean, can I have final approval on your album before you put it out?"

He let out a laugh at that. "Point!" he said. "Well, okay. I like you. You've got guts." He paused. "Also, I'm twice your size, and I guess I can wrestle you into submission if I have to."

"That's why I wear stiletto heels and keep my nails sharp," she said with a grin. "I fight back!" She took out her phone and held it out to him. "I promise not to tell any lies. Everything else is dependent on what I get from the interview."

He paused for a moment and then took her phone, pleased to see that it was in a sturdy black case rather than one with Hello Kitty or some such nonsense. Somehow that tiny detail gave her an air of seriousness that he'd missed, distracted by her shapely body and her pretty face. He approved of that and decided that he should check out articles bearing her byline when he had the chance. Programming his number into the phone, he handed it back to her and attempted to avoid Misha's enthusiastic backslap.

"The rest of the evening is gonna be pretty full for me." Jared was already wondering if he should have offered her the interview. It was too late to back out now, but he could make sure that it took place when his time was limited, so he could call a halt and have it justifiable. He was about to pick a time and place when Misha patted her hand and interrupted, leaving him with no alternative but to go with his manager's decision. 

His heart sank when he heard his manager say, "He has time tomorrow afternoon, Sandy. I'll pencil in a couple of hours for you after he gets home from the studio, unless you want to go watch him make his new video?"

Jared knew from the way Misha was smirking at him that the manager had realized exactly what he was planning and stymied it. He bit his lip and nodded to confirm the time with Sandy, who was no longer looking at him, but had her head bent as she swiftly entered the details of when and where into her calendar.

There seemed to be little else to say except for goodbye and thank you to Connor, who was preparing the tracks to send to Eisman, who would be mixing them ready to release.

"Thanks, Jared. I still think you need to do that cover of Hard Sun. It's perfect for your voice." The technician lifted a hand in salute as Jared headed out towards the elevator which would take him down to his vehicle. "See ya soon."

Down in the parking garage, Jared bade farewell to Misha and Sandy and made his way over to his truck. Slinging his guitars into the back seat, he checked the time anxiously. It was already almost seven, and Jensen had said on the phone that he would be coming over. 

He paused at the Mexican restaurant close to his house and ordered a bunch of taquitos dorados, carne asada and baja style zucchini along with the salsa roja that he knew Jensen loved. If Jensen didn't make it, he reasoned, he'd eat it all himself right before he blew his brains out.

The house was spotlessly clean, and that in itself was a wonder. When Jensen had agreed to come over that evening, he'd called Alejandra, his cleaner, in a panic, hoping against hope that she could wave some sort of magical housekeeping wand. She had been thorough, disposing of all the empty bottles and cans left from his ongoing pity party, collecting the dirty mugs and dishes that had been stacked on every flat surface and shining anything that could possibly be shined. His bed was freshly made, and there was a pile of newly laundered clothes in a basket waiting to be put away. She'd opened all the windows, and the place smelled of wax polish and fresh air despite Jared's recent habitual dependence on alcohol and depression. He made a mental note to give her a bonus, because she'd gone over and above expectation. 

Sadie had greeted him with doggie kisses and licks, and he'd petted her briefly before letting her out to frisk in the back yard. Setting his takeout down onto the newly sparkling kitchen counter, he made as if to open the fridge in search of a beer but then changed his mind and put on the coffee maker instead. 

He was just trying to settle down again, despite the fact that his stomach seemed to be tied in knots. He had his coffee beside him rapidly going cold. Sadie sat at his feet, gazing up at him with the kind of look that made him think that she knew exactly what was going on with him. He had his guitar in his lap, and he was gently strumming it, feeling the mellow chords calm him, when the doorbell sounded. He jumped, thinking that his heart had received instructions to helicopter out of his chest, and as he set his guitar to one side to go answer the door, there were butterflies wearing lead boots dancing an Argentinean tango in his belly.

Jensen was wearing aviator shades, battered camo pants, and an olive-green T-shirt with "Eat the Rich" embroidered across his chest. Jared wanted to lick him all over, or if not actually eat him, at least _taste_!

He didn't know how long he stood in the doorway gazing at Jensen, but it must have been unacceptably long, because Jensen gave a little cough and murmured, "You need the password first, or are you gonna let me in?

"S... sorry." Stepping to one side to let Jensen pass, Jared collected his scattered thoughts and tried to look as if he hadn't been gazing at Jensen like a lovesick fool. He watched as Jensen made his slow way across the hallway and into the living room, leaning heavily on his stick. "I... I made some coffee, or would you rather have a beer?" Jared said as he closed the front door and followed Jensen into the room.

Jensen sat down on the couch and smiled down at Sadie, who had come to lay her head on his knee and peer at him hopefully. As he scratched behind her ears, he frowned, apparently considering Jared's offer before he finally elected to have a beer. "I overdid things a little today. I should probably take a pill, but one beer won't hurt me."

Bringing the can of beer and a glass over to Jensen, Jared resumed his seat and reached for his coffee, smirking as he complained to Sadie about desertion. "Go on! Leave me," he said to her, clutching at his heart. "They all leave me in the end." Sadie gave a huff of agreement and turned back to Jensen, who snickered as he fondled her scruff.

Setting the glass down on the small side table beside him, Jensen poured out his beer and placed the bottle next to it. "You remembered," he murmured.

"It's you, dude. How could I ever forget your ladylike ways?" Jared flashed him a fleeting smile. "I remember everything about you, Jen. Everything." His voice turned soft as he made that last comment, and he picked up his guitar in an effort to disguise how emotional he felt. "So, did you talk to Danneel?"

"Yeah, I did." Jensen met his eyes with a steady green gaze. "She says that she had no reason to lie, and that you told her I was no longer an option because I was always going to be a burden."

"And you believe that?" Jared frowned, grim as he pondered Jensen's words. "Jen, I didn't even know you were injured. I told you that."

"She does have a point, though. What reason would she have to lie that way?" 

For a moment, Jared sat, frowning, wondering what his next step should be. It was evident that Jensen didn't want to think that Danneel could have been so perfidious. He loved Jensen, and he didn't want to hurt him despite the fact that he'd been hurt himself in the lonely months following his convalescence. He sat weighing whether he should fight or back away, while Jensen watched him, blank green gaze allowing no trace of what he might be feeling to show through. Jared bit his lip and then, decision made, rose to his feet, disappearing off into his office with a muttered, 'be right back.'

Alone in the small room where he kept all his paperwork, he rifled madly through his desk drawers, looking for the one single piece of evidence that would bear out his story. It wasn't in the first drawer, and the receipts and bills that were there ended up broadcast all over the parquet floor, while he yanked open the second drawer.

Its contents went the same way, and it was only his sudden memory that he had stowed what he was looking for with the last file of info about the band along with the press cuttings about the crash that saved the rest of his office from sharing the same fate.

Drawn to the doorway by the sound of cursing and crumpled papers, Jensen made his way to stand in the doorway, mouth open in astonishment as Jared cried out a triumphant, "Gotcha" and dove for the box file that was perched on one of the bookshelves across from his desk. Opening the file, he rummaged feverishly, finally brandishing the item he'd been seeking so desperately.

"Here," he yelled. "Read this and then tell me I'm a liar."

For a moment he didn't think Jensen was going to take it. He remained standing in the doorway, face pale as marble, green eyes somehow hollow, as if he'd withdrawn behind them to some kinder, better place and left his body standing there. Jared held out the single sheet of paper he'd been searching for, his face alive with 'I told you so.'

"Take it; go on." The words hung between them for a long drawn out moment, and then, finally, Jensen seemed to return to life, reached out a hand to seize it from Jared, turn it around and scan it. It took him several minutes to read it, frown and read it over again, turning to look at the back as if there might be an explanation for it etched there. There wasn't.

"That's the note she left me. I woke up five days later, and that was all I got from any of you." Jared's eyes were glazed and shiny as he spoke. "I thought I would blow my brains out. I drank a lot for a while, until Misha dragged me out of a bar when I was too drunk to protest, hauled me home, turned the shower on me, and finally — once I was sober and the hangover had gone — slapped a guitar into my hands. He told me to sing about it, and I've been doing that ever since, even though there have been nights I just wanted to shove a gun into my mouth and follow Chris down."

Jensen didn't say anything. He was still frowning, and there was a bloom of high color on his cheekbones, stark on his pale face. He nodded once, jerky and stiff, then turned and limped back into the living room.

"I'm sorry." It was a whisper, almost too quiet, but Jared heard it anyway. "I believed what she said. After all, why would you want a cripple?"

"Hey," Jared flashed a humorless grin at Jensen. "You're not the only one. Why would you want one?" He gestured down at his left foot. "I don't talk about it, and I don't publicise it, but I didn't exactly escape scot free either." Bending, he rolled up the leg of his jeans and pointed to where the artificial limb was attached to his ankle. "When the van rolled, I was mostly flung free, but the roof of the van ended up on my foot, crushed it and just... took it off. I was lucky not to bleed out."

"Oh, God." Jensen rose and put his arms around Jared, hugging him close. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

Jensen was warm against him, and for a moment Jared wasn't quite sure what was expected of him. His arms stole out to encircle Jensen's waist and hold him, gripping tighter and tighter as the reality of the moment finally dawned. This was Jensen. This was what he'd been missing through the lonely months since everything had fallen apart. He dropped his head to rub his face in the crook of Jensen's neck, breathing deeply to inhale the scent of him, the warmth, the fresh sweat, and the faintly astringent cologne. For a moment he was where he wanted to be. He told himself that this was enough, although deep down he knew that it would only satisfy his craving for mere moments. The longing would come back soon enough.

"Don't be sorry. Just make things right between us," he murmured, and when Jensen stepped back and nodded, he had to trust. 

"I will," said Jensen. "We'll be fine now; I promise. I just have to go talk to her, tell her that I know." He picked up his stick and then stepped forward again, sliding a hand through Jared's shaggy hair to turn his face ready for a kiss. It was tender and sweet, lip clinging to lip, and, when he pulled away, Jensen smiled a gentle affirmation, then moved back to press again, infinitely gently.

"Don't feel sorry for me." Jared's voice cracked, and Jensen reached again to press one finger against Jared's lips.

"I don't," he said, "I feel sorry for Danneel," and he reached up to pull Jared down so that their lips met.

The summer of 2003 was an idyllic time. Steve, Chris, and Jensen had been making a name for themselves around the clubs in Los Angeles. They'd scored a residency at the Viper room and were currently having heated arguments about what to call themselves, since they didn't think they'd get much traction if they tried to get a recording contract as Chris, Steve and Jensen.

"I keep telling you, we should call ourselves Kane," Chris said for something like the 90th time that day. "It's short and snappy. That's what we need."

"Yeah." Jensen lay on his back on Steve's couch. "It also makes you the front man, and I'm not so joyous about that. Quit trying to pull the wool over our eyes, dude. There's no fuckin' way I'm gonna join your vanity band."

"Well, we can hardly call the band Ackles, now, can we?" Chris rolled his eyes, huffy. "It's not a fucking vanity band. It's just that Ackles isn't a cool name like Kane."

"That's not even your real name, Mr. Christopher Short," smirked Jensen, and Kane growled, clenching his fists, prepared to take it further.

"When you two ladies have finished bickering..." Steve's soft rasp interrupted the argument before Jensen had time to utter whatever unfortunate riposte had been welling up inside him. The two of them turned to look at Steve, who was in the doorway, a tray loaded with interesting looking sandwiches in his hands. "We need a lead guitar. We ain't going anywhere with just me and my Taylor. That's much more important than arguing over what we're gonna call ourselves. Let's wait 'til we've got a band before we worry our heads over what name we want."

He kicked Kane's feet off the coffee table and set the tray down. Jensen sat up and eyed the contents with interest, while Chris just grumbled and put his feet up on the couch beside Jensen instead, causing Steve to swear.

"Get your fucking boots off the couch, you animal!" Kane laughed but complied, knowing that his behavior drove Steve insane. Reaching out, he snagged one of the sandwiches.

"La-di-dah," he muttered. "Anyone would think you were gonna be featured in _Homes of the Rich and Famous_."

"Never will be if you keep marking up the soft furnishings," grumbled Steve. 

"Where we gonna get a lead guitar?" Jensen had polished off one sandwich and now reached for another. It's not like people are lining up to join us, an' if we're going the whole way, we need a drummer too."

"Drummer's easy," announced Steve around a mouthful. He chewed hastily and then swallowed. "I know this guy, Jonah. He's pretty good, and as far as I know he's only doing session work at the moment. Bet he'd like a live gig now and then."

"You should give him a call," said Chris, reaching for the last sandwich on the tray. "I wouldn't be averse to a rhythm track, once in a while."

"Yeah." Jensen rose to his feet. "You never know. He maybe knows some guy with red hot guitar skills." He picked up the empty tray and made for the kitchen. "Awesome food, as usual, Steve. Why don't you get the guy over to jam? It'd be fun."

The Viper Room was packed that night, and Steve's buddy turned up, joined in with them using a Cajon box drum to pound out rhythms for them and making Chris, in particular, want to keep playing long after midnight.

It didn't take long before the drummer had become an integral part of the band, and as they continued to build their fanbase, Steve became more and more insistent on recruiting a lead guitarist. Finally, Jonah told them that his buddy was going to be in town from Texas later that day and mentioned that he'd set up the visit, because the guy was a strong guitarist. Once he heard that, Steve was all for going to meet the man at the airport, which made both Chris and Jensen laugh at him. 

"Does he have a place to stay? He can stay here if he wants." Jensen was fiddling idly with his guitar. "Wish I knew how to play this thing properly," he grumbled after hitting the same bum note a couple of times in succession. "I can do the frets, or I can pick the strings, but somehow getting the two to work together just isn't happening."

"It'll come if you keep practicing." Steve turned to Jonah. "Bring your mate over as soon as you can," he told him. "It'll avert an existential crisis by the looks of things." Jonah laughed and nodded before he headed out to collect the new arrival from the airport. 

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Jen," smirked Chris, whose guitar skills were even less amazing than Jensen's. "You can just stand around and look cute and wave your tambourine like Davy Jones." He then cried out as a well-aimed shoe caught him on the side of the head."Jesus, fuck, Jenny! You need to find some guy that'll keep you in the kitchen where you belong, barefoot and pregnant."

Grinding his teeth, Jensen picked up his guitar and took himself off to his room, away from Chris and his infuriating comments.

Neither of the two men realized at that moment just how much their lives would change because of the events that would unfold later that day. Jensen, furious with himself for having fingers that responded like sausages, and Chris, secure in his thoughts that Jensen would someday give in and come to his bed, had no idea how their world would change.

Jonah and his mysterious, guitar playing friend didn't appear that evening, despite their earlier conversation, but the following night they had a gig, and Jonah at least would be there.

He was, in fact, already there when they arrived at the Viper Room. Steve had picked Chris up on his way in, and Jensen was running late, due to some modeling he'd been doing. Jonah was up on the stage, setting up a full drum kit when Chris and Steve arrived, Steve with his guitar and amp, and Chris trailing behind, lugging cables, wires, and Jensen's guitar, which he set down beside the stage and then went to start plugging things in.

"Is that everything?" called Jonah, popping up from behind his bass drum. "Want me to go get anything?" 

"Mixer's still in the back of the truck," said Chris. "Wanna grab it?"

Jonah hopped down off the stage and started to make his way out to collect the equipment. Steve elbowed Chris, then jerked his chin towards the very nice Fender Stratocaster guitar propped at the back, partially obscured by the drum kit. Heading over to pick it up, he looked it over and nodded, then busied himself plugging it in and making sure it was ready to go.

"Looks like the mystery guitarist is somewhere in the building," he said, peering around but not really seeing anyone yet except for the bar staff, who were getting set up for the evening. 

At that moment, Jonah returned, toting the mixing desk, while Jensen followed him in with the amplifier that had also been left behind. "Hey, glamour boy. How was the shoot?"

"Meh..." Jensen shrugged his shoulders. "You know how it goes. Get tarted up, get fluffed and folded, get objectified and then spend the day with some flaming queen grabbing my ass as if he owns it."

"That's because you're the prettiest one of all, baby." Chris blew him a kiss from where he was wiring up the amps, and Jensen flipped him off.

"Forget it, Chris. It's never gonna happen. Did someone bring my guitar, I...?" His voice trailed off into silence, and he stood, gaping. From his position down on the floor, Chris couldn't see what he was looking at, so he rose to his feet and turned to see an exceptionally large young man emerge from the green room carrying a snare drum.

"Jonah? Where do you want this?" the vision said and then blushed when he suddenly realized that everyone was staring at him. "Uh, hello. I'm Jared." He set down the drum he was carrying and gave a dorky little wave at Steve, and then saw Jensen for the first time and stopped all movement.

Steve said afterwards that he was sure that he could see the little cherubs fluttering around the two of them, but just at that moment it seemed as if both Jensen and the newcomer were locked in some kind of trance. It was broken by Chris, who stepped forward and put his hands on his hips, clearing his throat.

"Holy shit, you're tall!"

"Wow! Am I?" Jared grinned, and the moment was lost as Jensen went to set down the amplifier. "I didn't realize."

Laughing, Jonah came down to grab the snare from Jared and clapped a hand on Jared's shoulder. "Okay, man, these are the guys I was telling you about. See, the mouthy one is Chris, the guy on stage setting up the mics is Steve, and the pretty one is Jensen."

"Oh, come on!" Jensen huffed. "I've spent the whole day being objectified and then come here to be mocked by Chris. Don't you start in on me too." He turned to Jared, who was watching him carefully. "Pleased to meet you, Jared," he said and held out his hand.

Jared took the offered hand and shook it, held onto it for a beat too long, gazing at Jensen with an awestruck expression. Jensen's eyes widened and his gaze flew to Jared's face.

"I am so pleased to meet you, Jensen," murmured Jared, voice huskier than it had been.

The flush that crept over Jensen's features glowed crimson, and Chris turned away with a grin to elbow Steve in the ribs. "Looks like your time's up, Stevie boy. I think we've both lost our chance, when it comes to that."

It took a moment for Jensen to find his voice again. When he did, he cleared his throat. "You the axe man we've been promised?"

"I hope so." Jared beamed his wide smile at him again. "Jonah told me you needed someone to play lead. I can do that if you're interested."

"Why don't you show us what you've got?" Steve stepped down off the stage and came forward to clap Jared's shoulder and lead him back to where his guitar was now set up and ready to go. "Jonah says you can rock out with the best of 'em. Wanna play something with us?"

"It would be my pleasure," murmured Jared, looking over at Jensen. He shouldered the strap of his guitar and played a couple of chords, then frowned and began to adjust the tuning to suit, while Steve and Jensen both picked up their own guitars and stood ready.

"What do you wanna play?" Tuned to his satisfaction, Jared grinned and began to play, 'I Touch Myself', amid groans and catcalls from the others.

"We're not here to learn about you and your best friend," said Steve with a smirk, but swiftly changed his tune when Jared launched into the opening bars of 'Sultans of Swing.'

"You're good," said Steve, starting to smile for real. 

"I'm pretty good with most stuff out there, but I like driving rock best," said Jared. "Just start to play something, and I'll pick it up and take it from there."

"Wanna do Rattlesnake Smile?" Jensen asked Chris. "If you rev it up a notch that could be a really awesome rock song."

As they got started, Jared slowly began to join in, and by the time the opportunity came for him to take the lead and run with it, they all knew that they'd found their lead guitarist.


	5. Don't Wait Up

Jared played the gig with the others that night, and by the end of the evening they knew that they'd found what they were looking for. He seemed to be able to play anything, even borrowing Steve's treasured lap steel at one point for one of Chris's country songs, but all through the evening, his eyes remained focused on Jensen.

Jensen seemed to accept the attention as his due, smiling more than usual and playing his heart out. He even consented to sing a couple of songs solo, which was something he hardly ever agreed to, and Steve looked despondent. Finally, when it was time for them to take a break, he took Jensen's arm and tugged him off outside with the excuse of going for a smoke.

"He wants you, you know," murmured Steve as Jensen held his lighter to the tip of Steve's cigarette.

"Yeah," smirked Jensen. "He does, doesn't he?"

"You going to go for it?" Steve's whole demeanor seemed to droop as he waited for Jensen's reply, and Jensen took his time, plush lips pursed in thought.

"Steve, man, you and I are good together. You're one of my best friends, and nothing's ever gonna change that." He laid his hand against Steve's cheek, and Steve could feel the heat from his palm, couldn't stop himself from pressing into the touch as Jensen paused. "We're good together, but we aren't great, and you know it."

Steve nodded, the lump in his throat preventing him from speaking. Jensen took a long drag from his own cigarette and then crushed it out under his boot heel. 

"You think this guy is gonna be more than a fling?" Steve wasn't sure how he kept his voice even, when inside he was raging against the loss that he knew was coming.

"Yeah, babe, I really think he could be the one." Jensen's voice was soft, and Steve gazed at him, thinking that he'd never seen him look more beautiful than he did at that moment, with the dim light from the door of the club lighting him as if he were some remote pagan idol. The soft light illuminated his bone structure as if there were a photographer waiting to shoot, shadowing his eyes and dusting his cheeks with gold. He had never looked more unattainable.

There was nothing further to be said. Steve made a little sound as if he would protest, but didn't put it into words, and after a moment, Jensen bent and kissed him. The kiss tasted like goodbye.

Then the two of them turned and went back into the club.

Jared was waiting for Jensen as they made for the bar, and Steve watched as he put a hand on Jensen's shoulder, bent his head to murmur something too soft for him to discern, and gave Jensen a pen to write his number on the back of his hand.

Turning away, Steve headed for the bar and ordered a couple of shots, downing them both before returning to the stage to get ready for the band's return.

They'd known that they were on to something with Jared, and their trust was borne out the next day when the local papers posted rave reviews of the previous night's gig.

Jensen was dead to the world when his phone began to shrill. Opening one bleary eye to check the time, he saw that it was only shortly before 8 a.m. and promptly fumbled for the phone, intending to hurl it as far as he could. At the last minute, he decided that it could possibly be his agent, and checked the number, frowning. It wasn't one that he recognized.

He'll never know what made him answer it, but he did, putting the phone to his ear and gritting out a sleepy "yeah?"

"Am I speaking with Jensen Ackles?" It was a woman's voice, and he groaned, thinking that he should probably hang up. He'd had enough encounters with fans to realize that they weren't all sane. The vivid memory of the girl who'd shown up in a wedding dress, saying she was there to marry Eric Brady was only one of the strange incidents he'd experienced since joining _Days_.

"Yeah. Who's asking?"

"My name is Danneel Harris, and I'm with Creative Muses Entertainment..."

Jensen cut her off with a gruff, "Already represented, thank you."

"No, please hear me out." Her voice rose a little as she tried to engage him, and with a muttered curse he hung up, cranky at his interrupted sleep. He hadn't even managed to put the phone down when it shrilled at him again.

"Listen," he snarled into it. "You've got 30 seconds to convince me not to put you on a blacklist. What do you want?"

"The band," said the woman, stuttering slightly in her haste to get the words out. "I want to manage the band. I can get you a record deal."

That woke Jensen up, and he sat up in his bed, eyes wide. "A record deal? For real?" He thought for a second or two. It could still be a fan, trying to get to him, but on the other hand it might just be a break for the band. "Really?" he said, somewhat hoarsely.

"Are you kidding? You guys are gonna be stars if I have my way." 

"Okay." Jensen was a little lost for words. "So, what do you want to do? How we proceed?"

"You're playing the Viper Room tomorrow, right?" He could hear typing from the other end of the line and wondered if she were actually on the level rather than just a crazy fan. "Talk to the others, and I'll have contracts there for you if you agree to be represented by Creative Muses, okay? Then we can talk about getting that album out. How does that sound?"

"Uh..." Jensen was temporarily bereft of speech. Finally, he managed to croak out a husky, "Okay," and sat staring at his phone once the call was done.

The following evening, the band was at the venue, set up and ready to go in record time. Steve was pacing, Jared was obsessively tuning and retuning his guitars, and Chris was sitting in a corner, swearing incessantly and inventively. Jonah had gone outside to smoke his ninth cigarette of the evening, and Jensen had withdrawn into his own head, merely sitting huddled in a corner, hugging himself.

By the time the audience began to trickle in, the nerves of all five of them were stretched to the breaking point, and when Steve's watch chimed time to take the stage, they were pretty much spoiling for a fight.

For Jared, it seemed to be a relief to step up onto the stage and lose himself in his music. As they launched into their signature opening song, “The House Rules", he found his groove and settled into the steady beat that Jonah began to pound out. Chris had the vocals to occupy him, and Steve as always was tuned into the sound they were making. Jensen thought that he was the only one that couldn't just relax. After a minute or so he laid his guitar to one side and stepped down to head over to the bar, thinking that a shot would calm his nerves and help him concentrate on providing a good show instead of biting his fingernails down to the first knuckle.

He'd ordered a scotch and was in the act of knocking it back when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face to face with a slender redhead.

"Shouldn't you be up there on the stage breaking hearts and being awesome?" She smirked in a way that crinkled her eyes up and gave her a roguish air. "I'm Danneel, by the way. We spoke yesterday."

Jensen decided right there that he approved of her. "Hey," he said, raising his glass with an inquiring gesture.

"Not for me, thanks," she gave him a wider smile that seemed somehow predatory and ran her hand down his arm. "I'm working." 

"I guess," he said, dubiously. "Me too, I suppose. Excuse me." He gave her a swift salute and put his empty glass back onto the bar before turning and heading back to the stage. Somehow, he felt relieved. She was here. The band would be signed, and they would be famous.

“The House Rules” had finished, and his song was next in the playlist. As Jensen slipped his guitar strap over his shoulders, Jared began the opening riff that signaled “Simple Man,” and Jensen lost himself in the music. 

A cheer went up from some of the regulars as he began to sing, and Chris, who had taken note of Jensen's earlier actions, and who really wasn't needed for that particular song, swung himself down from the stage and went to the bar to get himself his own drink. Moments later, Danneel had approached him, and as the song came to a close, Jensen could see that the two of them had their heads together, looking through a bunch of papers.

Steve's song followed, with Jensen providing the harmonies to "Rocking Chair", and then they paused for a moment while Steve chatted to the audience about the upcoming guest nights at the Room, while Jared went to drag Chris back to the stage .

They played their heart out after that, knowing for certain that there was a management company rep right there in the audience, waiting to sign them up. They finished their opening set on a high, and as they broke for intermission Jensen felt giddy, as if he'd taken part in a marathon. Sweat was pouring down Jared's face, and he had thrown off his jacket. As Jensen watched, he pulled off his T-shirt too and mopped his face with it.

"I brought another one with me. I always sweat a lot on stage." He grinned at Jensen, who was admiring his broad chest and six pack. "Gimme a moment to get decent, and I'll buy you a drink."

"Don't trouble yourself on my account," smirked Jensen, running his eyes over Jared. "It doesn't hurt at all to look at you."

Jared flushed, and at that moment, Jonah came over to tell them that Danneel was ready to go through the contract with them. Nodding, Jensen turned to go to the bar where the rest of the band were already surrounding her, then watched as Jared grabbed his spare shirt from his guitar case and followed.

The signing was in some ways an anticlimax. They agreed to appoint Danneel as manager, initially for one year and then to be renegotiated. She was discussing recording contracts and TV appearances, tours and music videos, and Jensen's head was soon whirling. He signed along with the others and joined in the hugging and cheering that followed. Danneel seemed to gravitate toward Jensen and appeared to be almost as touchy-feely as Jared. 

The band toasted each other and drank to future success, and he excused himself to go to the bathroom, wanting to get away from her constant groping. He stayed in there for a few moments longer, wondering why he felt uncomfortable when she was merely celebrating the signing along with them. He was just deciding whether he should go back to the others, since their second set was only five minutes away, when the door opened and Jared came in.

"You okay? You seemed a little off your game." Jared made for the urinal and unzipped as he was speaking, and Jensen, a little off balance, watched him pee in an abstracted manner as he tried to collect his thoughts.

"Yeah," he said, finally. "Somehow not feeling it, tonight. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

"Oh, that sucks." Jared went to wash his hands. "You want me to take you home?"

"We've still got the second set to do." Jensen said, but the protest died on his lips as Jared, hands still dripping, came over to cup his cheek and bend to kiss him. The kiss was a little off-center and rather tentative, and as a first kiss, it wasn't quite what Jensen had imagined, but it was a start, and he felt sure that they could build on it.

"Pretty sure that the others can hold their own for the second set now that we're all signed up and under contract. Come on, and I'll run you home." Jared smiled at him, and Jensen's heart did a little skip and flutter. "Let's go tell them we're out of here." He slid his arm around Jensen's waist, and Jensen felt himself guided forward and back out into the hallway to where the others were still clustered around the bar.

As Jensen told the rest of them that he was feeling ill, and that Jared had offered to take him home, Danneel stepped away from the others, unnoticed, her face a thundercloud. The others expressed their concern at Jensen, and Steve murmured that they were thinking of giving a keyboard player a trial to see if he fit, so they would do that with their later set. "Keyboard's going to really flesh out the overall sound, and Danneel says this guy is really good."

Jensen blinked a little, but agreed, wondering why this hadn't ever been discussed before, while Jared, always friendly, shook hands with Riley, the newcomer, and then turned back to Jensen, grabbing hold of his hand and leading him away.

The ride back to Jensen's house was quiet. Jared drove while Jensen sat, attempting to get his thoughts in order. He wanted the contract, wanted a manager, but he'd had sudden bad vibes from Danneel. He suddenly realized that he could be construed as being a douche, and he turned to Jared.

"Thanks for bringing me home, man. I don't think I could have made it through the second set. I feel kinda weird." He held his breath, hoping that he didn't sound too lame.

Jared gave him a smile and reached to put his hand on Jensen's forehead. "Hmmm... You're a little warm. Maybe you really are coming down with something."

"Would be just my luck. Sign a contract, get the flu." Jensen opened the front door. "Come on in and have a drink before you go back?"

"Not going back tonight. I wanna make sure you're okay, and then maybe go home, have an early night. I've not been sleeping too well, lately." Jared followed Jensen into the living room, which still bore traces of Chris's most recent occupancy in the form of empty beer bottles and scraps of paper with lyrics scrawled on them in his favored purple ink.

"Oh, yeah." Jensen stopped short as he looked at the mess around Chris's favorite chair. "I forgot that Chris was here this afternoon. Steve never cleans up the mess, because he knows I'll get fed up with it before he does."

"Hey, don't sweat it." Jared put his hands on Jensen's shoulders, massaging them a little, and Jensen relaxed a little as he felt strong thumbs digging into exactly the right spot. "I'm a tad untidy myself." 

"Chris is more than just untidy," snorted Jensen, leading the way into the room. "He's perfected making a mess as an art form! You want a beer?"

"Sure, if you're going to have one." Jared followed Jensen through the living room and into the kitchen but paused on the threshold, momentarily taken aback by the pristine condition of the room. It was large for a kitchen, every worktop gleamed, every tool and appliance shone. Jared peered around at the shining surfaces, mouth open, and Jensen gave him a smirk.

"This is Steve's domain. Chris isn't allowed in here, ever since he used Steve's favorite knife to undo the screws on the bass amp." He held out a bottle to Jared and saluted him with his own. "He's a chef," he explained. "He likes his kitchen to be ready for anything." Flipping his bottle cap into the garbage, he led the way back into the living room and gestured for Jared to take a seat.

"So, we're going to be rock stars," murmured Jared. "How does that make you feel?"

"I'll believe it when it happens," said Jensen, with a grin. "I was kind of glad to get out of there tonight though. I felt bad for abandoning the others, but she was getting on my nerves a bit with the way she was constantly touching... I don't swing that way, and she didn't want to take a subtle hint."

"Let's face it, Jen, she was groping you." Jared leaned forward, bottle clasped loosely in one hand. "It pissed me off big time."

Jensen's eyebrows went up at that. "How come?"

"Because I wanted to be the one who was groping you, to be perfectly frank." Jared gestured widely with his bottle. "Ever since I first saw you, man."

Jensen could feel the heat rush to his cheeks, and he gazed at Jared, trying to gauge his sincerity. "Yeah?" he said after a moment.

"Are you kidding?" Jared set his bottle down on the side table and slid off the couch making his way on his knees across to where Jensen sat, wide eyed. Reaching up to place both palms against Jensen's cheeks, Jared pulled his face close and pressed his lips to Jensen's.

It was a much better kiss than the one in the bathroom at the Room. Jared's lips were soft, and although the kiss was still tentative for a long drawn out moment, that didn't last. Jensen felt the flash of heat tingle through him, and he shuddered, slid his arms around Jared's waist and pulled, dropped down onto his own knees to press himself closer.

Mouths slid together, fitting perfectly. Jensen probed with his tongue, stroking it against Jared's lower lip, and Jared gave a faint moan, opening to him and pulling him ever tighter until Jensen thought that Jared might be trying to assimilate him.

Easing back, Jensen gazed up at Jared, taking in the adoring, black gaze because Jared's pupils had widened so much that there was only the thinnest rind of hazel around the black. He could feel Jared's dick, hard, thick, and insistent as it pressed against his belly, felt his own as it tingled, demanding on its own behalf as it pressed against Jared's thigh. As their tongues dueled, it began oozing pre-come in unapologetic spurts as it sought more sensation, more heat, more Jared.

As realization dawned on him about his advanced state of arousal, Jensen pulled back, one hand on Jared's chest. "Whoa!" he said, voice husky as he tried to slow his breathing.

Jared pulled back sharply, lifting his hands as if to apologise. "Sorry," he said, looking dejected. "I kinda thought you and I..."

"What? No. I want it; I do. It's just..." He could feel himself blushing all over again, heat rushing to his cheeks as he stuttered. "It's just that I... I was gonna come in my pants, and I'd rather not."

Jared's face broke into a brilliant smile, and he threw his head back and laughed. "I thought you had decided you were gonna go with Danneel after all."

"God! Wash your mouth out with soap, will you?" Jensen aimed a punch at Jared's shoulder, and in no time at all the two of them were wrestling playfully, rolling around on the floor laughing. 

They wound up with Jared lying over Jensen, hands pinning Jensen's as he laughed down at him. "Haha! Now I've got you, me proud beauty," he announced, rolling his hips against Jensen.

"Yeah, you really do," said Jensen. "Guess I'm fucked!"

"Not yet," chuckled Jared. "But you will be in a minute." Lowering his head, he nibbled along Jensen's jaw line before claiming his mouth again. All Jensen could do was moan softly and kiss him back, giving in to the insistent ache in his groin and the need that was building in him — that had been building ever since the moment he'd set eyes on the lanky guitarist.

When Jared slid his hand down inside his pants to cup his dick, Jensen cried out, and it took only a handful of strokes for him to come, whimpering as his orgasm shook him. It took a few minutes for his breathing to return to normal, and he peered up at Jared through the veil of his lashes. "Need me to reciprocate?" he asked.

"Not this time, I'm afraid," said Jared, flushing. "I started without you."

"Really?" Jensen stared. "Wow! I win!"

"Guess you do, this time," said Jared, grinning wickedly. "But I insist on a return bout."

"Well, get off me then, and I'll show you to my room."

The morning after Jared had shown Jensen the letter from Danneel, he woke up clear headed and full of excitement for the first time since the fatal crash that had torn the band apart. He had a song running through his head, one that would be perfect for Jensen's voice, and he flung back the bedclothes, performed a perfunctory clean up and hit the studio, still in his pyjama pants and with his bed hair still wild.

It didn't take him long to get it onto tape, the words and music flowing better than they had since he'd lost Jensen, and by the time it was done and committed to tape, Jared realized that he was starving and he hadn't even had any coffee.

Stretching luxuriously, he wandered into the kitchen to start making himself something to eat. While the coffee was brewing, he let himself imagine how his life would be now that Jensen and he were back together.

Settling himself down with eggs and toast, he grabbed a pen and paper, writing furiously as more lyrics filled his mind. The phone rang, and as he answered it, he heard Misha express surprise that he was up and alert so early.

"Hey! I've been up for hours. Got a couple of new songs, and I'm recording with Jen this afternoon."

"Jen?" Misha's voice was confused. "As in Jensen Ackles?"

"Yeah. That Jen. Do you have a problem with that?" Jared was unimpressed.

"I don't, but your recording label might," said Misha. "Since when have you and Ackles even spoken to each other? I thought you were deadly enemies, competing for top place with all your energy."

"Not anymore." Jared smiled to himself as he remembered the previous evening. "We sorted out where the problem lay, and it wasn't with us."

"Well, I guess that's good," said Misha, cautiously. "If you're writing new stuff and getting up early, I'm all for it."

"Glad I have your blessing." The sarcasm in Jared's voice was unmistakable, but Misha didn't rise to the bait. 

"The reason I'm calling is that I've set up that interview with the reporter girl you met yesterday. Sandy McCoy, remember? She'll be coming over to your place in the next hour or so."

At that, Misha hung up, and Jared knew that his manager was avoiding the complaints and bitching he knew Jared was capable of. Shaking his head ruefully, he tossed the phone onto the breakfast bar and went to make himself presentable. If he had to do an interview he didn't want to be portrayed as the kind of slob he had been until a couple of days earlier.

Finally, showered, shaved, and dressed in a pair of comfortable old jeans and a Death Cab for Cutie T-shirt, he decided that he was ready. He was just clearing away his breakfast things when the doorbell rang.

"Coming!"

He made for the door to let Sandy in, and was completely taken aback to discover that, rather than his visitor being the tiny reporter, it was Danneel standing on his front porch, and with her were Steve and another man he didn't know, but who was even taller than Jared and twice as broad.

"Well, hello, Jared," said Danneel, a smirk on her face. "Mind if we come in for a minute or two?"

Opening his mouth to tell her no, Jared suddenly found himself being hustled backwards into his hallway and through to the living room as Danneel followed, unpleasant smile still on her lips.

"Wait! What the fuck?" Struggling to release the iron grip Steve and the other man had on his upper arms, he managed to land a kick on Steve's knee that made his aggressor cry out, and all of a sudden found himself down on the floor, immobilized by the big guy as Danneel sauntered around him on her four inch stilettos.

"Thank you, Clif," she said, and then gazed down at Jared. "Very impolite, Jared. I thought you had better manners than that." She stepped on his right hand, grinding her heel into it where it lay, pinioned by the large thug who was holding him down. Jared screamed, and she gave a little, girlish giggle. "That's good. I have your full attention at last. Now, you're going to write a letter to Jensen to tell him that it was all a mistake and you realize that you and he don't have a future together."

Eyes open wide and face flushed with the pain, Jared stared at her. "What? No!"

"Oh, dear. I wondered if that might be your attitude," she murmured. "I guess we have to go to plan B then, won't we, gentlemen?"

"Plan B?" Jared suddenly realized that he was in a world of trouble as both Steve and his companion drew out metal batons. "Look, I don't know what you..."

He was silenced as Steve grinned, aiming a blow at his face that shattered his cheekbone, and after that it wasn't long before he lost consciousness under the brutal beating that ensued.


	6. I Could've Cried With Both My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is Jared?

Sandra McCoy knew she was cute. She knew that she wasn't classically beautiful, but she was perky and pert, and curvy in an adorable, non-threatening way. She was also completely aware of how to use her charms to get the interviews that had made her the premier freelance music reporter in her field. She had managed to get interviews with the crustiest, most antagonistic divas out there. She'd been the one who had beguiled Prince into allowing her to run a series on him and his music, and that was no mean feat.

So, she was good at her job and liked to think of herself as a dispassionate, hard hitting journalist, who didn't back away from the tough questions. However, as she got ready for her interview with Jared Padalecki, she was thinking less about probing questions and more about how very good-looking Jared was.

As she stepped into her 4-inch stilettos and gathered her recorder and her purse ready to go, there was the thought in the back of her mind that she might even somehow get him to invite her to dinner or something. Musing happily, she locked the door of her condo and made her way down to where her car was parked.

There was a Santa Ana blowing, fierce gusts that bent the palm trees and filled the air with smoke from one of the wildfires that were blooming further out from the city. She shuddered at the thought of the destruction that would probably cause and thanked her stars that she lived in the city, well away from the terror and damage.

Litter whirled through the smoky air as she drove along the 405 towards Newport Beach. She was a little early as she approached the cul-de-sac where Jared lived, and that pleased her. It would give her a chance to look around and see what kind of place Jared lived in and provide her with some color for her article.

Parking a little way down the block from his house, she climbed out and walked the last few yards, noting that it was a lot smaller than she expected to see from a bestselling musician. The front yard was bounded by a low wall of sandy brick that matched the stucco that coated the house itself, and there were several steps up to the area by the front door. She mounted the steps eagerly, and was pausing to ring the doorbell, when she noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Unable to resist creeping up on him, she slipped quietly inside and paused to look around.

She could hear voices coming from a room nearby and paused to listen. It suddenly dawned on her that all was not well when she heard Jared scream, and a moment later heard him say, "What? No!" in a very loud voice. Swiftly flicking on her recorder, she crept a little closer, wondering if she could get a photograph of the events that were unfolding. She could hear a woman's voice, and then Jared protesting, followed by a harsh thumping sound that spoke of brutal beating. 

Realizing that it would be very dangerous for her if she were discovered at that point, she put her recorder down behind a lamp that stood on a table in the hallway and then slipped into the coat closet, leaving the door cracked in the hopes that she would be able to see who the abusers were as they left.

Her heart was thundering so loudly that it almost drowned out the sounds coming from Jared's living room, and she thought that the assault would never end. When it finally did, and she heard the perpetrators getting ready to leave, she positioned herself by the door of the closet, her phone ready to snap a photo if that proved possible. Two of them passed her by, the woman in front and a man following immediately behind her, twirling a baseball bat as he said, "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."

The woman, shapely and stylishly dressed, tittered as she shot him a glance over her shoulder. "Believe me, Steven, dear, it can't possibly be as long as I have."

"Don't be so sure, Danni, darling." The man named Steve paused and growled before resuming his progress to the front door. "He took everything from me. I'm glad he's dead."

"Oh, you silly boy. You could never have held onto him, even if Jared hadn't existed." Their conversation ended with Steve's cry of protest as they left the house and made their way down the steps. She almost emerged from her place of concealment, was in the act of reaching for the door, when an extremely large man came shuffling past her. She stifled a cry as she saw Jared's limp body flung over his shoulder, head and arms dangling behind as he moved. The click of her phone as it snapped the photo was so loud that she thought for a moment the stranger had heard her, but after pausing, stumbling a little under Jared's weight, he continued out the door.

She waited for what seemed like an eternity after they had gone, at first terrified that there was yet another thug lying in wait, and then worried that they might decide to come back for some unfathomable reason. She cowered behind the closet door and thumbed through the photographs she'd managed to take through the slight aperture that was all she'd had available to her. Her heart was in her mouth as she thumbed through the photo library and found that she'd gotten three good photos, one of the two on their way out, with only their backs visible, and one with the woman turning back to taunt the man named Steven. The final one showed the man carrying Jared's limp body, and although it was a little blurry due to the fact that her hand had been shaking, it was plainly a man carrying a body.

Eventually she darted from the closet to grab up her recorder and throw it into her purse, then, kicking off her shoes she ran to the room where she guessed the fight, or whatever it was, had happened.

It had definitely taken place there, and they'd done a number on him, judging by the spatters of blood and the damage to the coffee table, which lay in broken pieces amongst the mess.

The man Steven had said Jared was dead and those words echoed in her ears as she took in the scene. She dropped to her knees beside the blood that spattered the tile and hyperventilated. It took her a few minutes to collect herself before finally regaining the ability to think straight, and then, at last, with trembling hands, she dialed 911 and then Misha, hoping he would be able to help in some way.

She hadn't needed to wait for long before police presence arrived, and she was ushered out of the scene of the crime and told to wait in the kitchen. They'd taken her phone, of course, despite the promise she'd made that she'd email the photos. They'd taken her recorder too, and she was being questioned by a detective who kept asking the same questions over and over. Why was she there? What had she been doing? Had she taken part in the attack? Did she know any of the perpetrators? She became horribly flustered and finally could only cry softly, wanting to go home.

She protested in vain that she'd been there to interview Jared. The detective seemed as if he was about to read her her rights when Misha arrived, looking stern, to take command of the situation. He swiftly vouched for the interview he'd organized and had Sandy produce her press card. 

"Look, for the moment, we need to concentrate a little less on who did this." Misha seemed calm, but from the twitching of his knee Sandy could tell that it was purely a facade and that he was as overwrought as she was. "What we should be focusing on is what they've done with Jared? I can identify at least one of those people. Shouldn’t that help us find him?"

Life had suddenly changed completely for the band. Danneel had done what she'd promised, and in a few short months they had found themselves propelled into stardom. Their album had made it to the top of the charts after a few judiciously placed advertisements, and before Jared knew it, the band was featured all over the media. Magazines were clamoring to interview them. They were booked for TV appearances, and best of all, they were suddenly headlining their own tour.

They didn't yet have a tour bus, and the gigs they were playing weren't yet the big stadiums, but they were growing in popularity all the time, and Danneel said it wouldn't be long before they could tour the world rather than just the US.

Steve and Chris had grown apart from Jensen after Jared's arrival, and the two of them had moved out of Jensen's house to an apartment in Studio City, so the J's, as Riley called them, had the run of the house.

It wasn't too much of a problem since they hardly ever got to see their homes. Danneel had them touring constantly, on the road one day out of every two, taking it in turns to drive the equipment van or the car in which the rest traveled.

They were in Lafayette the day that 'According to Me' —their second single — made it to #1, and all the press in the state suddenly descended on them. 

Money was still tight despite their success so far, and Danneel kept them on a very precise budget, but she'd decided they deserved a night out to celebrate, so she took them to the Blue Dog Cafe, telling them she'd eaten there a lot as a kid, and that the food there was amazing.

True enough, it was delicious. But someone at the restaurant must have called someone else, because first journalists and then TV cameras, and finally inquisitive members of the public had all turned up to invade their dinner. Jensen, never comfortable with uncontrolled crowds, rose to his feet, and announced that he had to leave. It was obvious that he was in some distress. There were beads of sweat standing out on his forehead, and he'd turned pale, freckles standing out across his nose that highlighted his pallor. 

"Sorry," he muttered, turning to go. "Not feeling too good."

Chris, who — as usual these days — was sitting at the far end of the table drinking, looked up and sneered. "Oh, Jeez. There he goes again." He knocked back his shot and waved his glass around, looking for another. "Thinks he's too good for the likes of us these days."

"Christian!" Danneel's voice cut across whatever else Chris was going to say, and Jared rose to follow Jensen out, leaving her to wrangle Chris. 

Intercepting Jensen as he made for the exit, he slid an arm around his shoulders. "Hey. You don't want to go out the front. There's a whole lot of people, and I think it would be a bad idea." He beckoned one of the waiters and after a minute or so the man led them out through the kitchen and into the alley behind the restaurant, which was fortunately deserted save for one of the chefs taking a smoke break.

The evening air was cool, and there was a refreshing breeze that countered some of the humidity that had made them sweaty earlier on, and they both took their time as they slowly made their way back to the hotel where they were staying for the night. Once they were back in the room they were sharing, Jared threw himself down on the bed nearest the door and raised his eyebrows at Jensen. 

"What was that all about?" 

"Sorry." Jensen had remained standing, looking ill-at-ease as he leaned against the desk that took up one side of the room. "You didn't have to come with me. You've made them even angrier at you."

"I don't get it." Jared lifted himself up onto his elbows and stared at Jensen, who was hanging his head, the picture of guilt. "What the hell happened to make them so mad?"  
For a moment, he thought that Jensen wasn't going to speak, but then he sighed and made his way across to slump onto the other bed where he sat looking dejected. "It's not easy to talk about this," he said, voice soft and husky. "I guess it's my fault, but I ain't proud of it."

"Go on." Jared sat up to face him, leaning forward in a way that he hoped would encourage him to talk.

"See, when you first arrived on the scene, Steve and I were together." Jensen said at last. His cheeks were flushed, and his head still hung. "When I saw you, he knew that we were over. He could tell. I thought he understood."

"Yeah. I kinda guessed that you and he were an item at some time." Jared nodded. "Still, his loss was my gain."

"Thing is, Chris always wanted what Steve had," said Jensen after a pause. "He'd been sniffing round me for a while, dropping hints that I might like to take a ride on his joystick. I'd always told him I didn't like him like that, but after I told Steve that we were through he started in all over again, groping, touching, and generally throwing out hints. I finally decked him one night after he followed me into the bathroom at the club and started in again. I told him then that he didn't stand a chance and never would." Jensen smirked as he rubbed his knuckles, apparently savoring the memory. "He was so damned shocked. Anyone would think I'd encouraged him, but I hadn't. You were the only one I was interested in, and a few days later we got together."

"So, you're telling me that all this shit is sour grapes because you didn't wanna get up close and personal with him?" Jared rolled his eyes. "Makes me want to smack him around a bit myself."

"Leave it alone." Jensen glared at his boyfriend. "I'm a big boy, and I'm perfectly capable of fighting off unwanted attentions." He reached out to take hold of Jared's hand. "You're the only one whose attentions I want these days. I'll tell you this, though. As soon as the year's over and the contract with Danni is up for renewal, I'm out. I'll take my chances as a solo artist." He peeked up at Jared through his lashes and smiled. "Unless you'd wanna come with me?"

"Just try and stop me." Jared rose to his feet and pushed Jensen back against the bed, dropping down beside him to press him back and capture his mouth in a series of little, biting kisses. "Reckon you've spoiled me for other men."

"Good to know." Jensen smirked as he wound his fingers into Jared's mop of hair and dragged him closer. Lips collided and tongues found each other, twining together in a timeless dance, wet, dirty, and hot. Jared let him have his way, melting against Jensen as they explored each other's mouths. Jensen's hands slid down to get his fingers underneath the hem of Jared's T-shirt, tugging on it in an unspoken command to get naked. He could only comply, breaking the kiss only for as long as it took to pull the offending garment over his head before diving down again to nip around Jensen's lips. Jensen growled and rolled them over, grabbing Jared's wrists and pinning them to the bed as he began to mouth over him, neck and shoulders, pectorals and biceps and on. He took his time, grunting his approval at each new taste, licking and lapping, depositing sucking kisses over Jared's tanned skin. He nipped at one brown nipple, feeling it tighten up and sucking it until it rose in crinkles.

Jared moaned and arched, offering himself to Jensen's succulent mouth, mumbling filthy promises as Jensen moved to work on the second nipple.

"You're good at this," he rasped, and that elicited a chuckle from his tormentor along with a renewed determination to take Jared apart with only hot, wet suction and nimble fingers.

Writhing, bucking up to press his needy cock against Jensen's, he felt the beginning tingle of approaching climax and struggled. "Don't make me cream my jeans, Jen, please."

Peeping up at him with mischief in his eyes, Jensen paused. "What if I want to?"

"You can do my laundry if you do." Jared lifted his hands to cup Jensen's face. "Want to come when you fuck me. Such a waste to shoot it into my pants."

Jensen nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. I can fuck you," he said, voice gone dark and filled with gravel. He slid his hands down to open Jared's jeans. "The buckle was starting to annoy me, anyway. I've got an imprint of the state of Texas on my crotch," he grumbled as he reared up to start removing his own pants. "Come on. I want you naked."  
There was a click as Jensen flipped the top of the lube and then bent to suck on Jared's cock, pulling up his thighs until they rested over his shoulders. Jared knew he was on a very short fuse and pushed Jensen back. "Gonna come if you do that," he groaned. "Don't wanna come yet."

"Pushy bottom!" Jensen aimed a swat at Jared's ass, then slid a slippery finger inside him to fuck him with deep, slow strokes. Seconds later, a second finger joined the first and then a third, strokes getting deeper and deeper until they reached his prostate. 

"Fuck, yeah. Ready for you, babe. Get in here." Jensen hadn't taken his eyes away from Jared's, and Jared could see how aroused he was, green long ago eclipsed by black desire. As Jensen pushed inside him, replacing fingers with the blunt head of his dick, he shuddered, groaned in turn, and rasped out a single, "Fuck!"

Jensen filled him, nudging inside until he was pressed against his sweet spot, bodies so close that their sweat mingled. Jensen was thrusting slowly, the little circular movements of his hips sending eddies of sweet tension through him to tighten every muscle. He could hear Jensen's breath, harsh as the pleasure built, and he reached up to pull Jensen's face to him, licking over his lower lip until Jensen let him in, no longer quite kissing as their passion grew and breath became more labored.

Jensen felt for Jared's dick, grasping it with strong fingers to thumb over the head of it. Jared cried out as he felt himself starting to lose control. "I... Close!"

Jensen nodded, sank his teeth into Jared's shoulder as he took up a more vigorous motion, rocking in and out with a twist of his hips each time he flexed them. "Me too," he said.

When it hit, Jared's orgasm locked up his muscles, and he could do nothing but jitter as his flesh convulsed and clamped down on Jensen, sending creamy bursts of come to spatter between the two of them. Jensen followed him, his thrusts losing their rhythm as his own climax hit.

It was never enough. Jared clung to Jensen, eyes unfocused as his release sent him spinning. Jensen was gasping underneath him, shuddering through the aftershocks, breaths strident and a look on his face as if he were struggling to regain his ability to think. Jared was still attempting to recover his own capacity for sensible interaction as the blood raced through his veins and his pulse drummed in his ears. He gazed down at Jensen, lying spread-eagled, wrecked, full lips bitten, and eyes blown wide as he glowed pale in the lamplight.

"God, I love you," he said, and then bit his lip as he realized the enormity of what he'd just announced.

"Oh, thank God," growled Jensen. "Me too."

Later, after they had cleaned up and lay kissing and caressing lazily, they heard the others return. Chris — they could tell from the voice that it was Chris — kicked at the door as they passed, and Jared could hear a growl of 'motherfucker'. 

"Hush," Steve’s voice said urgently. "You'll upset his sensitive feelings." 

"I thought they were your friends. Why are you so angry at them?" Riley's voice was clear and loud, and as they made for their own rooms Chris's response wasn't distinguishable, but the overwhelming feeling of hostility lay on Jared like a suffocating blanket, and he wondered just how they would possibly be able to function in the atmosphere that prevailed. He wasn't sure how much longer the band would hold together now that there seemed to be such bad blood between them all, contract or no contract.

Jensen waited at the studio. He was looking forward to recording with Jared once again, remembering how the music they'd made had always seemed to flow organically. He wasn't too disturbed when Jared seemed to be running late. He just worked on one of the tracks, laying down some of the double tracking he needed. He checked his watch from time to time, his frown growing more pronounced each time, and when an hour had passed and there was still no sign of Jared, he wondered if the other had decided not to show after all. He was just about to phone Jared and give him a piece of his mind, when his phone rang, pre-empting him.

He answered, expecting it to be Jared calling to apologize. Instead, he heard a voice he didn't know announce himself as Misha Collins. He knew who Misha was, of course. He'd been introduced at the Grammys during the after party. He wasn't sure why Misha would be calling him, but a vague feeling of unease spread over him as he listened to the other man's voice.

"Hi, Jensen." There was a pause. "I know Jared's supposed to be there with you in the studio right now, but I'm afraid there's been an incident..."

"Where is he?" Jensen bit his lip. "Is he okay? He didn't get into an accident, did he?"

"Look, I don't think it's good to talk about it over the phone. Can you come over to Jared's house? Would you mind? I think we need your help."

"I guess." Jensen was grabbing his coat, his cane, and his beanie as he spoke and waved a brief goodbye to Marcella, the engineer who was the only person he trusted with mastering his music. "Give me fifteen minutes."

With that, he was racing down the stairs, forgetting about his mobility problems as he hurried to where his car was parked, prepared to break the land speed record if that's what it would take to get him to Jared if he was in trouble.

It only took him twelve minutes before he was pulling up outside Jared's house, feeling close to panicking as he took in the police cars and the activity that was obvious around the house. Climbing out and making his way up the path as swiftly as he could with his stick, he shoved open the door and yelled for Misha.

It wasn't Misha who came to the door, but a small, very pretty brunette with tearstained cheeks. She led him into the kitchen, where Misha was on the phone. He seemed to be talking to someone about Danneel, but his words made little sense, and he twitched impatiently, his anger growing as Misha just seemed to ignore him and keep talking.  
"...Yeah. Find her and bring her here. I don't care what it costs. It's urgent." There was a bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter, and Misha had a tumbler full of the stuff. Sipping it, he started up again. "Yes. Drop everything you're doing until we've found him. Bring her in as soon as you can. She's the key to all of this."

Jensen was pouring himself a healthy portion of the whiskey when Misha finally hung up his phone and acknowledged him.

"Sorry about that." He picked up his glass again and gestured to Sandy, who was sitting at the counter beside him, looking woebegone. "This is Sandra. She's a reporter." She pulled out her phone. Instantly he was on his feet and ready to back away. "I don't talk to reporters. Where's Jared?"

Sandy, who had quailed under Jensen's ferocity, tentatively held out her phone to him. "This is all we know. Please be careful with it. My entire career would be at risk if anything should happen to my calendar, and I already had to fight the cops for it." 

Taking it from her, Jensen peered at the photo she had pulled up. "Jesus! Is that Jared?"

"That's Jared." Misha nodded grimly and took the phone from him, showing him a couple more pictures. "All we know is that he was beaten unconscious and taken away from here by these three people. I don't want to lead you, but can you ID any of them?"

"Yeah." Jensen rubbed his forehead for a minute as if trying to chase away the image. "That's Danneel, my fiancée. The others are Steve Carlson and our tour bus driver. I can't remember his name. Cliff, maybe?"

Misha didn't actually acknowledge the information, merely picked up his phone and dialed again. "Me. One of the other two is Steve Carlson. We think the big one might be called Cliff, and he's the driver for their tour bus." He drained his glass and slammed it down on the counter. "I don't care what shape they're in as long as they can talk. Just do what you've gotta. We'll sort it out afterwards."

Turning back to Jensen, he spread his hands. "You've helped enormously, man. Thanks a lot."

"We still need to find him. He might need help. You think they've kidnapped him?" Jensen still couldn't quite fathom why Danneel would be knocking Jared out and taking him away. "We have to find him."

Sandy, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly spoke up. "You want me to post online that we're looking for him? I can put it up on Twitter as a breaking news item." She ducked her head. "They'll expect me to write it up in an article afterwards, but I was going to do that anyway."

"Do it." Misha's voice cut across anything that Jensen had been going to say, and Sandy began texting her paper as Jensen tried to work out what was happening.

"Danneel... she knew that Jared had told me about what she did after the crash. He showed me the letter she wrote him, and I like an idiot went home and challenged her on it. I never dreamed she'd do something like this." He shuddered. "God, I knew there was still resentment, but I never would've thought Steve would go so far as to hurt him."

"I don't know what the hell we can do now," said Misha. "Except wait. The police have all the information Sandy gave them. They're out looking for him now, and the other three too. I'm going to wait here in case he can somehow come back home. If my guys find Danneel or Steve they'll call for further instructions, so there's nothing else to do right now."

"If you think I'm going anywhere until I find out what happened to Jared, you're mistaken." Sandy gave the other two a sheepish smile. "I'm a reporter. It's what I do. 

Besides, I care about him. He was a lot nicer to me than a lot of the people in the music industry."

"That's fair," nodded Misha. 

"I'm staying too," growled Jensen. "Nobody's more important to me than Jared, and I have a terrible feeling that I'm the reason he's in this mess."

"Okay." Sandy jumped down from the stool she'd been sitting on and made a beeline for the cupboard where the cups were. "I'll put on the coffee."

"I'm going to walk around the grounds just to make sure they didn't dump him behind a bush," said Misha, getting to his feet.

"Good thought." Jensen stood too. "You go one way and I'll go the other. Check in the dumpsters and that kind of thing."

The sun was sinking as the three of them reconvened to drink yet another coffee. They were no longer chatting because there were no words left to say. Jensen was pacing, wondering if there was ever going to be an end to the day, terrified to say anything about what he was really thinking, that Jared, his talented, beautiful lover, might be dead, and all the music he had in him would never be expressed. He hung on to the thought that if he didn't say it, then it wouldn't be true, but that uttering the words would seal Jared's fate.

Misha was typing into his phone, a scowl on his face, while Sandy just sat, methodically peeling the polish off her nails.

A burst of country music from Jensen's phone startled everyone, and he checked it, muttering, "It's Riley," as he pushed the button to engage the call. "Hey," he said after a minute. "What's up?"

"Jen, you should listen to the news." Riley's voice was full of suppressed excitement. "It's your boy Jared. It looks like he was mugged. They're taking him to Cedars-Sinai right now."

Hanging up without saying anything more, Jensen dropped his phone into his pocket and called to the other two. "Cedars-Sinai. They found him! Coming?" Turning, he headed for the door.

Traffic was a bitch, and it was close to an hour later that they arrived at the hospital. Jared had been taken in for emergency surgery, and once more the three of them resigned themselves to wait, hoping that it wouldn't be too long before someone would come and tell them just how injured he really was.

Sandy was on the phone to her editor, doing her best to indicate that she had a scoop without giving away anything that hadn't been put out there already. One of the detectives who had interviewed her earlier had turned up shortly after they'd arrived, and they were all waiting to find out just what kind of condition Jared was in.


	7. Leave Your Pack at the Side of the Road (I’ll Show You Where to Sleep)

_There was only pain and darkness. No up, no down, only pain that came in flavors, dull and grinding, sharp and piercing, stabbing and prickling, acid and vicious. Jared thought he might have cried out, but there was a roaring in his ears that drowned out everything else he might have heard._

_He'd been here to this place before. Memories swirled in his brain. He whimpered and didn't feel the cool hand that was laid on his forehead, the swab that moistened his lips, and the hand that clung so tightly to his. All he knew was the memory of lying on a wet road, unable to move as he heard Jensen crying out for him. Then lights, too many lights, and then nothing._

Everything sounded echoey and hollow. There were people speaking, but they were too far away for him to hear. Jared couldn't open his eyes, couldn't see, and it panicked him. He moaned, and tried his damnedest to get up, but he couldn't seem to move.

"Jay?" The word meant something, if only he could remember what. He struggled to make sense of the word even as he felt himself float away into oblivion.

"Jay?" This time he recognized that someone was talking to him. Jay meant him. He remembered that now. Someone used to call him Jay, and he frowned as he tried to recall who, conjured up a pair of thickly lashed green eyes, and...

"Jensen?"

His voice was a croak, harsh on his own ears, and someone placed a sliver of ice between his lips, the cool water as it melted onto his tongue felt wonderful, and he wished there were more. He wished he could open his eyes, but the darkness swirled around him, and he drifted away again.

“You must be beat, Jensen.” Misha looked just as frazzled as Jensen felt, three day’s growth on his chin and clothing so rumpled it was evident that he had slept in them. “You should go get some sleep. I’ll call you if he wakes, but I don’t expect he’s going to just yet. They’ve pretty much said that they want to keep him sedated until the swelling in his brain goes down.”

“That’s okay.” Jensen shook his head. “I’m staying. You go, and I’ll cover for you.” He folded his arms and sat on the edge of Jared’s bed looking determined. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t leaving Jared’s side now that they’d found each other again.

Misha sighed, nodded, and moved towards the door. “You’re just as stubborn as Jared. God help the music industry once you two get going again.”

“You think he’ll be able to...” The question died on Jensen’s lips as fear overwhelmed him. “Oh, God, he will be okay, won’t he?”

“Put it this way, Jared’s the most boneheaded man I ever met. If anyone’s going to survive, it’s him, just to spite your girlfriend.” Misha gave him a wan smile. “Now, I’m going home to grab a shower, a couple of hours sleep, and food that doesn’t come in a bun. You want me to bring you anything?”

“That’s okay.” Jensen was starting to like Misha. “Thanks for including me yesterday. I guess you’ve got no reason to like me after all the shit that’s gone down since the accident. “I promise that I never knew Danneel was lying to me. I honestly believed the lies I was told. It was so easy to believe that he was disgusted by a cripple and couldn’t bear to see me. I... I had no idea that he’d lost his foot.”

“He told you about that?” Misha’s eyes widened. “It’s just incredibly sad. He cleaned himself up a little when he was going to meet you, but he’s been living on Jack Daniels for the past couple of years — ever since I met him I’ve been trying to get him off the sauce, but he said that there was no point, that he didn’t have much to live for any more. I thought he was grieving for Chris, but it turns out it was you all the time. I only found out at that awards ceremony. I never knew that you two were even a thing. He didn't tell me.” Misha paused, and Jensen could see the thoughts reflected in his eyes. “I tell you this. I think the fact that you and he are together again will be enough to pull him through.”

With that, Misha left the room, and Jensen resigned himself to his vigil.

Jared slept on, face pale and swollen, scarred with cuts from the abuse he’d taken, his body unnaturally still. His hand and arm were in a cast, and lay along the top of the bedclothes, a silent reminder of the injuries he’d sustained. Other than the soft sound of the oxygen swishing in and out of his body, there was no indication that he was still alive. Jensen watched him intently, searching for any slight movement, anything that would indicate that the Jared he knew was still in the broken body that lay so silently in the hospital bed.

A nurse came by to record his vital signs and change the drip that was supplying Jared with his cocktail of painkillers, antibiotics and anesthesia.

“My goodness,” she said, regarding Jensen with sympathy. “You really shouldn’t be here. Visiting hours ended at nine, and that was over an hour ago.”

“I’m not going to leave him. I can’t.” Jensen shook his head. “I can’t lose him again. I need to be here when he wakes up.”

The nurse, whose name tag proclaimed that her name was Pearl, surveyed him for a long moment, then her face softened. “Oh, honey, he’s not going to wake up for a while yet, if...” she stopped abruptly, but Jensen knew the words she’d bitten back.

_If he wakes at all._

She finished her appraisal of Jared’s vitals and made notes on his chart, then turned to him. “Look, let me see what I can do.” She pointed to the bathroom at one side of the room. “Go take a shower. I’ll find you some scrubs to wear, and be back in a few minutes, okay?” As Jensen nodded dumbly, she patted him on the shoulder. “You might as well make yourself useful,” she murmured. “Patients in a coma respond well if you talk to them. They may not look as if they can hear you, but they can, so talk to him. I’ll be back soon with some clothes that don’t smell like you’ve been on the street for weeks.”

She turned and left the room, and Jensen stared after her for a moment and then turned back to focus on Jared. “Talk to you, huh? Well I can do that. It’s gonna be a weird feeling, talking to you without you interrupting me every five seconds, but it’ll be refreshing.”

Drawing the plastic chair as close to the bed as he could, he began to talk. It was almost half an hour later when Pearl returned. She was accompanied by a large security guard, and between them they were pushing a bed, which they proceeded to set up in the empty space to Jared’s right. As the guard rumbled a soft, “Goodnight,” and made his way out of the room, Pearl turned to him again. “Here you go. Shower first and put these on, and when you get tired of watching your boy doing his impression of sleeping beauty, you can catch a few hours of sleep. I don’t want to have to nurse you back to health as well, and if you don’t sleep, you’re likely to fall and brain yourself on the floor, or the bed-frame, or something.”

“Thank you.” Jensen took the scrubs from her and gave her as much of a smile as he could manage. “You’re amazing,” he said.

“I am, aren’t I.” She gave him a wide smile in return and then headed out of the room. As she went, Jensen headed into the small bathroom to take his much-needed shower.

The shower went a long way towards helping him feel human again, and upon his return to Jared’s bedside, he began to talk again. He talked about their days in the band. He talked about how the others had rallied around after the accident and the surgeries that he’d had to undergo. He talked about how much he’d missed Jared and how hurt he’d been at the thought that Jared would reject him as not good enough because he’d been injured. He didn’t know how long he talked, only that he was hoping that his words would make a difference. After a while, he began to sing, soft ballads, old folk songs, on and on until his voice began to fade. Dawn was breaking when Jensen finally climbed onto the bed that had been brought for him to snatch a half hour or so before starting all over again.

Sleep came swiftly, falling on him to devour his conscious mind before he’d managed to set his watch to wake him, and when the new nurse came in to take Jared’s vitals, he was dead to the world.

Morning was well advanced by the time Jensen opened his eyes, thirsty and confused about where he actually was. His eyes were gummy, and his mouth tasted as if he’d been chewing kitty litter — used kitty litter. His back and legs were prickling with altered sensation, and for a moment he thought something had happened to him.  
It took him a few minutes to realize where he was, and then it all came back to him.

“Jared!” He sat up, looking around himself.

Jared hadn’t moved, hadn’t twitched from the night before. He still lay, allowing the machines to breathe for him, looking grey under his tan, intelligent eyes hidden by the thick lashes fanning out over high cheekbones, face almost as pale as the white bandages wrapped around his head.

Jensen was about to crawl out of his borrowed bed and make his way to the bathroom to get himself ready to face the day, when there was a knock on the door, and, without waiting, Misha entered, along with another man. Jensen peered at the newcomer owlishly. He looked vaguely familiar,

“Brought you coffee.” The manager held out a paper cup, the familiar green logo on the side of it, and Jensen smiled his thanks as he inhaled the fragrance. Coffee seemed to make the morning a little less unbearable, although if asked, he’d have admitted that he felt like shit.

Misha tossed a sports bag onto the bed beside Jensen. “Took the liberty of bringing you fresh clothes, toothbrush, that kind of thing. I figured that you’d still be here.” He cast the stranger who’d come in with him a sideways smirk. “Told you he’d still be here, didn’t I?”

The other man nodded, a slight smile on his saturnine features. He turned to Jensen and extended a well-manicured hand. “I think he’s going to ignore my presence for the rest of the day, so I’ll introduce myself. I’m Detective Omundson, and I was there for a short while last evening to interview Ms. McCoy, but I suspect you were somewhat preoccupied.”

“Did you catch the bad guys?” Jensen croaked.

“Not yet. That’s why I’m here.” At Jensen’s raised eyebrows, he continued. “You see, with the help of Ms. McCoy, we know who the assailants are. She’s agreed to sit on the information for now, with the guarantee that she will have the inside scoop once they’re behind bars. We might have suggested to the press that this was a homicide investigation...” he grinned. “However, I suspect that if we have the hospital give a statement on his condition, and it becomes known that Mr. Padalecki here is alive but vulnerable, it might well bring them out. When that happens, we’ll be able to arrest them.”

“So you want to use Jared as bait?” Jensen was horrified. “No. No Way! Absolutely not! What if they manage to kill him for real? He’s not exactly in a position to fight back.” He paused, his breath strident as he imagined all the things that he could see going wrong with that as a plan. Finally, he hung his head, his voice so low that it was almost as if he were telling himself and not the others. "I just found him. I can't lose him again."

“He’ll be fine, Mr. Ackles. The detective grinned, white teeth flashing as Misha started forward to steady Jensen, who had turned pale and seemed to be only a step away from falling. “We’ll be watching him day and night, ready to pounce as soon as they show their faces. Let me show you.” He led Jensen over to the panel that showed Jared’s vital signs. “This would be the ideal place to incorporate a camera, don’t you think? That way we can keep an eye on your friend here without having anyone sitting outside to deter any would-be assassin.”

“So, you guys would be lurking somewhere, hoping to get to him in time?” Jensen allowed his irritation to show a little. “It’s no good arresting her after she puts a bullet in his head. I need him still breathing.”

“Us guys will be lurking right inside the bathroom with the surveillance equipment we'll install. It’s unlikely that she, or whomever she sends to do her dirty work, would use a gun. They would be unlikely to get away in that case, even if they used a silencer.” Detective Omundson smirked, stroking his beard as he appeared to ponder. “I think a knife or some kind of poison, an empty syringe, or maybe even suffocation would be the way to do the deed while staying unnoticed, but it’s not going to happen.” He gave a little sideways glance at Jensen, who had turned pale. “We can do more than just eat donuts and write tickets for traffic violations. Trust me.”

Jensen thought long and hard before finally nodding sharply. “Yeah, okay, but we plan it together, and you don’t do anything we haven’t discussed in advance. Also, I stay with him every minute, until I can take him home.” There was a pause, and the detective was about to say something, when Jensen looked up again, his eyes full of cold fire. "Take care of him. Nothing else better happen to him, or I swear to you that so help me God I will make you pay."

Danneel was feeling fairly happy about life. She'd succeeded in removing a serious thorn from her side and had gotten away with it. Now all she had to do was tie up a couple of the loose ends, and she would be free and clear.

She knew that there was no longer any chance of becoming Mrs. Jensen Ackles, which meant that it would no longer be possible to claim title to his solo music once he’d been removed from her path, but he'd been less a lover than a means to an end right from the start. With Jared gone, she was now the sole owner of all Creative Chaos’s music, all the recordings and any royalties that there might subsequently be. Jared had been the one hold-out who hadn't signed the contract that would give her the rights to their music, and that had now been taken care of. It was too bad that Jensen's solo music wasn't under her control, but Creative Chaos had been extremely successful, and she'd managed their money perfectly. They'd done the work and never realized that she and she alone was reaping the rewards.

Danneel was checking her offshore investments and adding the latest residuals, when the door suddenly crashed open, and Steve stormed in, his face like thunder. Sighing, she closed her laptop and set it to one side before turning to raise a delicate eyebrow in inquiry.

"You watching the news?"

She made a performance out of looking around for a TV before smirking. "No, Steve. I am not." A brief pause ensued while she allowed Steve to grind his teeth in irritation. "Why would I be watching the news?"

"Oh, I'm not going to spoil it for you, sweetheart." Steve went to the bar behind her and reached for the bottle of Glenlivet that stood on top, poured himself a healthy drink and sipped it, nodding appreciatively before taking both the glass and the bottle with him to sit on the couch. As she watched him, a smile began to creep across his face, and she frowned, wondering exactly what she was missing. She'd long since realized that Steve was an easy person to control, and it was a little unnerving to see him behaving in this hitherto unfamiliar way.

Idly, she reached for the TV remote and flipped it on, swiftly finding the news and turning to Steve and spreading her hands in a gesture that invited him to explain. "There. Inner city violence, mass shootings and Malibu being evacuated, because of the fires." She lifted a beautifully manicured hand to her mouth and mimicked yawning. "What's so exciting about that?"

"Give it a few minutes. It'll come around again. It always does." Steve's sharp incisors were bared in a particularly wolfish smile, and Danneel swallowed, nervous now. She was a little uneasy at Steve's show of belligerence. She'd had all of them under strict control until now, and she didn't like this at all. Surreptitiously, she texted Clif. If Steve was going to be a problem, she really needed to get rid of him now rather than later, and Clif would be her chosen instrument. All she'd have to do would be offer him what he'd been after for the past six months, and then make sure that he would never get out of bed again. Piece of cake!

She was interrupted in her musing by Steve giving a piercing whistle. "Here it is, Danni. Check it out."

"...This is Sandra McCoy, reporting from the emergency room at Cedars-Sinai Hospital, where only a few minutes ago, Jared Padalecki, the musician whose songs are on everyone's lips, was rushed into intensive care. It's too early to know precisely how serious his injuries are at the moment. Stay tuned for more information." The screen cut to a recording of Jared receiving his Grammy. And from there to the weather report. 

Danneel shrugged and reached to pick up the remote and turn the TV off again. She was quiet for a minute, thinking about the repercussions if Jared survived. Best to get out of dodge as soon as possible, but before she left, she needed to tie up that couple of loose ends that might otherwise cause her serious inconvenience.

"Do you seriously think he'll recover?" she schooled her face into a suitably frightened expression and waited for Steve to take the bait. For a moment it looked as though Steve was going to leave, and she felt a thrill of genuine fear that she might be losing control of him, but then his face softened and he stepped forward, reaching to pull her into a hug.

"Doubtful," he said. "We did a pretty good job on him. I think it might be a good idea to go on vacation for a week or too, though. You never know."  
"Good idea." She smirked. "Venezuela is lovely this time of year, I understand, or maybe Brazil. Go pack your swim trunks. I'll call you when I've made the arrangements. We can be in Rio this time tomorrow."

As Steve left the room, Danneel frowned. She didn't like the way Steve was acting. Still musing, she brought up the American Airlines website and booked a flight for Rio, and then sighed to herself and picked up the phone.

"Clif, I'm a little worried," she said, voice a coo as she set the printer going and pulled her suitcase out from under the bed. "It's Steve. He's going to turn us in, I know it. He's convinced that Padalecki is going to wake up and tell the cops what happened."

There was a laugh from the person on the other end of the call. "That's unlikely. If he wakes up at all, he's gonna be a vegetable, pretty much. He won't recall much of anything. Still, if you want, I can go finish the job. All it needs is a syringe full of air into his neck, and he's a goner. However, Steve's a different kettle of fish." Clif paused, and then laughed again. "Listen. Just leave Steve to me. He's not going to go to the cops. I promise."

"I knew I could depend on you, Clif." Danneel checked her watch as she hung up the phone. Her plane wasn't leaving until 7 p.m. Plenty of time to go shopping. It would be nice to stand out in Rio. With that, she slung her purse over her shoulder and sauntered out of the apartment.

Steve was on his way to the hospital, having made up his mind to go talk to Jensen when his phone rang. The soft voice of Danneel's enforcer had become increasingly familiar in the day or so since Jared had been taken down, and Steve sighed as he responded. This absolutely wasn't a good time.

"Hey, man. How's it going?"

"Could be better. Got to say, I'm really not happy that we didn't finish him off." Clif sounded to Steve as though he'd had one or two drinks, and in his heart of hearts Steve couldn't actually blame him. They were in a mess. The hospital was probably not the best place to try and complete what they'd started, and there would be no second chances if Jared actually woke up and started telling people what had happened. Danneel seemed to be confident that he was too severely injured to ever be able to relate the events leading up to his landing in the hospital, but then Danneel was a consummate liar. Who knew what she really believed?

"Yeah. What can we do about that, anyway?" Steve frowned as he probed to try and find out what the big bodyguard's thoughts were. 

"Danni says that we're leaving the country later tonight." Clif paused for a moment, and just as Steve was about to respond, he suddenly said, "I really think we need to abate the nuisance before we leave. That way we can come back whenever we want to."

"What? Just saunter in and put a pillow over his face or something?" Steve smirked. Let Clif do that. He, Steve, would be off the hook and could enjoy his exile without the guilt that killing Jared himself would engender.

"Nah! That'd take too long, and there would be signs." Clif laughed. "All we need is a hypodermic syringe full of air, and he'll be singing in the invisible choir right next to Tom Petty and Kurt Cobain." 

"So, are you gonna do that?" Steve spotted a parking space and pulled in triumphantly, knowing how difficult it usually was to get a space so close to the hospital. He was just congratulating himself as he stepped out of his car and turned toward the hospital when someone took his arm. Turning to see what was happening, his heart sank.  
The person manhandling him was Clif.

"Hey, man, great minds think alike."

"Looks that way." Steve didn't quite like the smile Clif was wearing, but he was going to have to suck it up. "You had the same idea as me? Get in and make sure there are no witnesses?"

"Pretty much." Clif still had Steve's elbow, and as they entered the hospital, he applied pressure to steer Steve first into a corridor away from the reception and then into a waiting room that was apparently not currently in use. "Take a seat. We'll only be a few seconds." Clif let go Steve's shoulder as Steve lowered himself into one of the chairs.  
He thought Clif had gone back out to look at the lay of the land. He thought the two of them were — if not friends, at least partners in crime. He knew better when he felt Clif behind him, hot breath on his face as a hand twined into his hair.

The knife was sharp enough that it didn't feel like he was dying. He'd always loved weed, and this was the same kind of fuzzy-head swirling, slightly erotic buzz. The difference was that this time there would be no more waking up in the morning, slightly hung over. This time his shirt was red, and he'd sung his last song.  
Steve's last thought was of Jensen.

Clif was smiling as he stepped back into the corridor and sauntered off towards the elevators. He polished the knife that had taken Steve's life with a handful of T-shirt and dropped it into a garbage container labeled 'sharps' as he passed through the doors and away from his erstwhile partner in crime. _Hospitals knew what they were doing,_ he thought. _Best place to murder someone. They think of everything._

Avoiding the elevator with the possibility of surveillance, Clif took the stairs up to the third floor and the Intensive Care Unit. Ducking into the cupboard labeled ‘Janitorial supplies’, he armed himself with a mop and bucket, splashed in some fiercely scented disinfectant and, so armed, set off on his quest to find out where whatever was left of Jared might be. There was a security guard leaning on the desk at the nurses’ station, in the middle of recounting some tale that made the two women behind it giggle. Looking purposeful, he strode past it, towing his bucket.

He didn’t have far to go. Jared’s room had a security guard posted outside of it. The man was sitting by the door, paging through his phone, and Clif came to a stop. “Hey man, you got a felon or something in there?” he asked, sloshing a little water on the floor in the corridor and mopping busily.

“Nah. Some dumbass rock god with more money than sense crashed his car, I think. I don’t know. I just sit where they tell me.” The man yawned. “My relief should be here by now. Time for me to mosey home and get a little shuteye.”

“There’s a guy at the nurses’ station enthralling the nurses. Maybe that’s him.” Clif scrubbed fiercely at nothing at all, keeping his eyes on the guard as he turned to look in that direction. He was about to move in and choke the man, when the guard who was apparently his relief suddenly appeared around the corner, and his moment was lost. “Hey, there you go,” he said. “Sweet dreams.”

The man rose to his feet. “Yeah. Thanks, bud,” he said and saluted as he turned to go home. Grinding his teeth, Clif kept his back to the newcomer as he continued to mop along the corridor and around the corner away from Jared’s room and out of sight.

He wasn’t sure how to get past the security guard, and that really annoyed him, but as it happened, he didn’t have to wait for very long. As soon as the first guard had rounded the corner out of sight, the replacement hauled himself to his feet and went back around after him, presumably to regale the nurses with more tales of his exploits. Leaving his bucket behind, Clif ghosted back along the corridor to study the lay of the land. Peering through the window to the right of the door, he could see that there were two beds, and that Jared lay comatose and pale in the bed closest to the door. He was about to try the door when he caught movement to his left, and saw Jensen emerge from a room — presumably, the bathroom—and take a seat beside Jared’s bed.

“Fuck!” This was not good! He headed off to the stairwell at the end of the corridor leaving the mop and bucket behind and made his way back down to the ground floor, where there was total chaos. From the way that the police were taping off the little waiting room he’d been in earlier, he deduced that Steve’s body had been discovered. Stepping back outside the main doors, he yanked out his phone and called Danneel.

“Did you get it done?” Danneel spoke before he could say a word.

“If you mean Steve, then absolutely. I imagine he’ll be all over the news any minute now.” He laughed softly as he saw a CNN van pull up, closely followed by NBC. “In 3… 2… 1… and rolling.”

“What about Jared?” She sounded snippy, impatient, and Clif frowned. She should learn some respect if he was going to be her partner.

“What about him?” There was scorn in his voice as he spoke. “I’ve seen him. He ain’t gonna be talking to anyone any time soon.” He shoved the door open and went back in to see what was happening now. It stood to reason that with all the fuss going on over Steve, people would be less likely to concern themselves with the death of a gravely ill patient in a different part of the hospital. "I'll go back up in a few minutes and pull the plug on Padalecki for you. He's dead to the world."

He thought she must have realized that he was annoyed because her voice softened. “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? He isn’t going to be screaming for help.”

“He might not be, but Ackles is with him, and you know that he will.” Clif made an irritated sound in his throat. “Gonna have to find a way to get him out of the room.”

“What about making sure that he’s called to identify Steve’s body?” She sounded as though she was smiling. “That would get him out of the room for a few minutes, I bet.”  
"If you want my advice, you'll get rid of them both. Jensen Ackles is a lost cause as far as you're concerned. Besides, he's as gay as the morning. Did you think you could cure him just by rubbing your magic tits on him?" Clif snickered. "Bearding is one thing, but he would never give you what I could."

There was complete silence on the other end of the line, and then finally, Danneel cleared her throat. "So, you're at the hospital right now? Whereabouts?"

"Yep. Right now, I'm just inside Emergency, watching the cops run around yelling orders and it looks like Steve is going on a trip to the morgue. You should be here. It's kind of funny."

The door behind him had opened, letting in a hot draft of air from the street. He felt a sting at the back of his neck, as if a yellowjacket had stung him. He slapped at it,  
muttering a string of invective, and then he felt fingers on his cheek, petting. "Poor Steve," she said, moving up to stand beside him. "He really loved my magic tits." 

Frowning, Clif turned to look at her. She was a picture of elegance and poise. He opened his mouth to tell her how good she looked and what he would do to pleasure her once they were out of there, but his tongue didn't seem to be able to move. He felt dizzy all of a sudden, as if he were drunk, and then his muscles began to tighten as pain washed over him. "What...?"

"Cyanide, darling." Smiling, Danneel let him see the tiny pellet gun she was holding in her right hand before slipping it into her pocket, and her smile broadened into a grin as he staggered, then fell to the ground. Throwing her hands up to her mouth, Danneel screamed. "Oh, my goodness. Somebody help him. I think he fainted!"

As people gathered around Clif's inert body, she backed away and then turned to saunter along the corridor towards where the elevators were located.

Jensen's voice was just about giving out. He'd talked until he couldn't think of anything further to say. He'd told increasingly lame jokes and started to read a book to him — one picked randomly from a handful Misha had brought from Jared's house. Detectives came and went from the bathroom, and from time to time food would be placed in front of him. He'd eat, but his focus was always on his comatose lover. On his most recent visit, Misha had brought Jared's acoustic guitar, and Jensen had received it gratefully, turning to song when he could no longer speak.

Raspy voiced, he could only croon softly, but he sang to Jared, songs from their early days, then nursery rhymes, old folk songs, in fact anything he could remember. He was part way through "Nothing Else Matters," trying to keep his voice from failing, when he noticed that Jared's eyes were open. The resulting discord proved that he was listening because Jared frowned and winced.

"Jay?" Jensen set the guitar down and turned to face Jared. "Jesus! They didn't think you'd ever wake up. " A tear escaped Jensen's right eye and rolled down to splash fatly onto Jared's hand, and Jared opened his mouth as if he was attempting to say something, but only a faint moan came out. "Oh, God, I should call a doctor. I'll call a doctor. Wait a minute." He made for the door, and then slapped his forehead, turned back and pressed the button next to Jared's bed. 

"Want a drink?" Jared just stared at him, lips moving without any sound. "Oh, God." Jensen bit his lip. Jared had woken up for sure, but was he still Jared? Had the injuries to his head damaged him beyond repair? He went to get some of the ice water from the jug by the foot of the bed to give himself time to think. An idea suddenly came to him. "Listen, Jay, you're in hospital. You were badly injured, but we're gonna get you better. If you can understand me, just blink once for me, okay?"

There was a long pause, and Jensen was openly crying now, tears flowing in rivers down his cheeks. Then Jared blinked and the corner of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile.

"Oh, thank God!" Jensen scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. "Let's see. Blink once if you mean yes, and twice for no, got it?"

Blink.

"You want some of this ice?"

Blink.

Jensen got busy with the spoon, allowing Jared to moisten his lips, then feeding him sliver after sliver of the ice. "You gotta tell me when you've had enough, Jay. Tell me no, no more, okay."

The single blink that followed Jensen's command was followed by another slight smirk, and Jensen laughed softly. "Okay, okay. You're not done yet. I get it." He carried on spooning the ice into Jared until finally he was rewarded with a double blink and a grunt from his patient. At that moment, the door opened, and a nurse came in.

Noticing that Jared appeared to be conscious, she swiftly paged the doctor and reached for his chart, going to the monitors to jot down the readings. It didn't take long for the doctor to arrive into Jared's room, and he began to go through all the routine assessments that doctors do. Something seemed to be troubling him, and it didn't take long before he turned to Jensen. "The monitors are showing that there are problems with his intracranial pressure. I want him to go for an EEG."

"What does that mean? Is it serious?" Jensen frowned.

"We'll know more once he has the EEG," said the doctor as he picked up the phone and called for an orderly.

"Can I come with him?" Jensen was really worried now, and he had to stop himself from clutching Jared's hand quite so tightly. "I can't protect him if I'm not there."

"Jensen?" Misha burst into the room, followed by an orderly, who set about preparing Jared's bed to be rolled out of the room. 

The doctor surveyed the newcomer for a moment, as Misha tried to catch his breath. "Jensen, Steve is downstairs, dead, and there's another guy who looks like the photo McCoy took — the big guy. He just fell down as I was coming into the hospital. I think it's him... the one that was carrying Jared."

Jensen turned to the doctor. "Listen, I'll stay out of the way, I promise, but Jared's life is in danger, and you don't know who to look for. I do, so I'm coming with him, okay?"  
"Well just hurry up. This won't wait." With that, the doctor turned on his heel and followed the bed out of the room and down the corridor towards the elevator, leaving Jensen to scurry after him.

Danneel had taken her time finding her way to where Jared's room was. Having finally identified it, she'd gone to find a white coat and stethoscope, expecting that such a disguise would allow her free passage pretty much anywhere she wanted to go in the hospital. She figured that it would be a matter of a couple of seconds to shoot both Jared and Jensen with her little dart gun, and then she'd be free to head out to the airport, having tied up all the loose ends.

As she rounded the corner of the corridor from the stairway, she saw the doctor go into the room that she knew was Jared's and retreated a little to wait until he came out once again. The wait made her irritable, and she found herself constantly checking her watch, nervous at the time he was taking. A second man ran into the room, apparently in a hurry, and she recognized him as Jared Padalecki's manager, Collins. When an orderly arrived she swore, a long stream of invective that described her intentions toward the two men she was stalking. Moments later she witnessed Jared's bed being pushed out of the room, accompanied by the doctor, and followed by Jensen himself, leaning heavily on his cane, chatting with Collins.

She frowned, considering what she should do. This didn't have to be a setback. This could actually be great. Of course, it meant that she wouldn't be able to get Jensen too, but she could wait for a more opportune moment to do away with him. It was Jared she wanted dead. It was Jared she hated.

Jared might have been removed from the room at the moment, but that just meant that she had a free hand, and that she would be long gone when he finally croaked. Fine. Squaring her shoulders, she sauntered down the corridor and into the room where Jared had been.

A quick look around showed nothing out of the ordinary. There was a pitcher full of ice water and a half empty glass beside the space where Jared's bed had been, and she ignored that.

She noticed that the second bed had been slept in and smiled. Maybe she could get to Jensen after all. Strolling over to poke at the disheveled bedclothes, she dropped one of her curare tipped darts in amongst the sheets. Who knew? Maybe he'd sit down on it and that would be all she wrote.

Turning to take a look around again, she spied the IV bag of medications lying ready to fix onto Jared's drip, and her eyes lit up. 

"Perfect," she said and gave a happy little giggle as she fumbled in her purse for the syringe that she'd brought with her for just this opportunity and began to mix a hypodermic full of poison. So engrossed in her task was she that she didn't hear the bathroom door open, until a voice commanded her to, "Freeze!"

She jumped. The hypodermic fell to the floor to shatter with a crunch, spreading its liquid death over the linoleum, and she growled, furious that her plans had been derailed. Nevertheless, she gave it her best try.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, outrage bristling from every pore. "This patient needs his medication, and..." she trailed off as Detective Omundson snickered, and a second person, presumably also a detective, emerged from the bathroom.

"Danneel Harris, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Jared Padalecki..." 

As the detective began to read her her rights, she zoned out, looking left and right to find some means of escape. Alas, there seemed to be nothing to do except accept her fate, for now, and then she recalled the dart she'd dropped into the bed where Jensen had spent the night. She whirled, reaching for it, and the sound of gunshot was deafening in the small room.

For Danneel Harris, what had gone before no longer mattered; what was now was just this — the world erupting in bright pain, receding and then gone.

As the first nurse to respond ran through the door to confront the scene, Danneel crumpled to the floor, white coat slowly reddening as bright blood seeped from beneath her to stain the floor.

Jared had been taken back into surgery to have the pressure from the slow leak of blood inside his skull dealt with and was now resting 'comfortably', as the doctors said, in the intensive care unit. Jensen was sitting with him when Detective Omundson found him, still talking to his unconscious lover. He'd strained his back, and his weak leg was cramping horribly, but he still refused to leave his post.

At first it didn't dawn on him that Danneel was dead, and that Jared was most likely safe, but as the news filtered into his sleep deprived, anxiety ridden brain, slow tears began to roll down his cheeks, and finally, emotions stretched beyond bearing, Jensen wept.

Once he'd started to cry, he couldn't stop, and he cried for Jared, for Steve, for Christian, and even for Danneel, and the way that time had done such a number on them all.  
After a while, the doctor had come, and he'd been given a shot to help calm him, another one to relax the muscles that were spasming in his back, then placed on a gurney and rolled away to be put to bed and hopefully sleep away the pain and despair.

Waking once again almost 24 hours later, he'd been taken in a wheelchair to see Jared before being given strict instructions to go home and take things easy for at least another day to make sure that his back recovered. Misha was waiting for him, having been given even stricter instructions not to let him walk more than was necessary, and Jensen, who was still suffering the grogginess of sleep deficit as well as a lot of pain, went without too much argument.

On the way back to the apartment that Jensen had shared with Danneel, it dawned on him that he was suddenly without any of the infrastructure he'd relied on. Danneel had been his manager and had taken care of his business matters. Steve had been his friend, companion, and musical arranger, and between them they had kept him busy since the accident that had seen the end of Controlled Chaos. Now they were gone, and he was not only alone, he was afraid.

It was obvious that Misha had noticed his mental state, but he held his peace until they had reached the apartment, and he'd taken medication to help control the back pain he was still experiencing. Once Jensen was settled on the couch, books and remote within easy reach, Misha judged it time to speak up.

"I don't think you should be alone right now," he said. "Is there anyone I can call for you?"

Slowly, Jensen shook his head. Riley, he knew, was currently filming and was up in Northern California for the next few weeks. Jason had recently moved back to Virginia and Jonah was bumming around Europe. Jensen thought he might still be in Amsterdam, but, in any case, he wasn't going to prove helpful.

"There's nobody," he whispered. "I don't know what to do. Danni managed everything after the crash."

Nodding, Misha pursed his lips. It was just as he'd suspected. The woman, Danneel, had taken advantage of Jensen's poor health to isolate him, render him helpless and very likely steal from him too. He felt bad for Jensen. Sighing, he hung up his jacket and went into the kitchen to see what kind of breakfast he could rustle up for the two of them. 

There were eggs and some cheese, so he settled on omelets, producing them with a flourish once cooked. Jensen devoured his gratefully and was still murmuring his thanks as he drifted off to sleep again, his pain medication finally kicking in.

Sighing, Misha tucked a blanket around the sleeping musician, picked up the phone to call his wife and explain what had happened, and then set himself to tidy the apartment a little.

There were signs of packing, especially in the master bedroom, where he found clothing and cosmetics strewn everywhere and a half full suitcase lying open on the bed. Idly, he picked up the little package of documents that were secured together with an elastic band and began to look through the papers. The passport didn't surprise him — except there were two of them, one in Danneel's name and the other in another name, although it too bore Danneel's photograph. There were a number of papers alluding to various bank accounts, and one giving the instructions to access an account hidden away in Switzerland.

Misha's eyebrows lifted at that. It seemed as if Jensen's erstwhile manager had been up to something a little shady to say the least. He set the papers to one side while he rummaged through the suitcase, but there was nothing further to be found inside.

Gathering the bundle of documents back together, he went in search of the laptop he'd noticed sitting on the bar.

It didn't take him long to get it up and running — Danneel had closed it when Steve had arrived that morning but hadn't actually powered it off. As Misha pulled the lid back, the full nature of Danneel's perfidy became apparent. Swiftly making sure that the details for accessing the site was in the package with the passports, Misha closed the computer again and went back to tidying up the place as he waited for Jensen to wake up

Jensen came to several hours later, just as Misha was starting to wonder if he should call a doctor. His color was much improved, and after a coffee and a bite to eat he was able to sit up and not look as though he would keel over in a slight breeze. Misha decided to alert him to what he'd discovered.

"Were you aware that Danneel was ripping you and your bandmates off?" he asked, feeling that tearing the band-aid off suddenly would be kinder than trying to sugarcoat things. He hadn't realized quite how Jensen's eyes would affect him. He was used to Jared and ignoring his wordless pleas, but in the face of a pair of huge, green, tear-filled anime eyes he found himself stunned into silence.

"What the hell am I going to do?" Jensen sounded defeated. "She was my manager. She took care of everything. I don't even know where to start."

"We'll work something out," said Misha. "Just, let's not rush into anything without considering all the pros and cons. I just thought you should know that she had all your money in a Swiss bank account, and she was preparing to leave the country."

Jensen's gaze flew to Misha, and his mouth opened in a soundless O.

"Fortunately," added Misha. "She's dead, and your money is accessible when you're ready to sit down and check it over."

There was a pause while Jensen appeared to think Misha's words over. Then he nodded. "Can we go back to Jared now? I need to make sure he's okay."

"Yeah, okay." Misha handed Jensen his cane. "Come on. I'll take you."

Jared was still out for the count when they arrived back at the hospital, but the staff were in the middle of moving him out of the ICU and back to the ward where he had originally been. His doctor was soon with them as they followed the procession back to the elevator and to his room.

"He seems to be much better," said Jensen. "He's not so white. Is that a good sign?"

"Absolutely." The medic — his name tag proclaimed him to be Dr. Fergus — gave Jensen a smile. "There was pressure on his brain from a slow leak of cerebrospinal fluid. That's been fixed and the pressure drained. He's breathing on his own now too. We don't anticipate any other catastrophes happening, and from the look of the MRI there has been little to no brain damage. Of course, we'll know more when he wakes up, but that shouldn't be too long now."

Jensen took a deep breath. "I really thought I'd lost him," he said.

"Not this time," said the doc. "Once he's grown his hair back you won't be able to tell he's any different." He paused, then added, "The steel plate might help him pick up FM radio without an antenna, but he's a musician, right?"

Jensen was about to say something when Misha started to laugh. "It's okay, Jen. He's joking."

"Jerk," muttered Jensen, and Dr. Fergus laughed as he made a note on Jared's chart and turned to go. 

Pearl, the nurse who had taken care of Jensen when Jared had been admitted, came by to check on both of them, and her face lit up when she saw how Jared had responded to the surgery.

"Goodness," she said. "He looks a hundred percent better. He's sleeping now, but he's not comatose the way that he was."

"Do you think he'll wake up soon?" Jensen gazed up at her with pleading eyes.

"Sweetie, when he wakes up, he'll be hurting. He's got so many bumps and bruises on him, and that hand of his will still need further surgery, so let him sleep and heal, okay?" She patted Jensen's shoulder and bustled away, promising to bring Jensen something more comfortable to sit in than the standard issue plastic chair he was currently occupying. Misha had listened without comment, but now stepped forward. 

"How are you doing? Would you mind if I left you for an hour or two? I need to hit my office and see if there's anything important waiting, and my wife probably thinks I've left her by now. If I go home and change my underwear everyone will like me a little more, too." He grinned at Jensen. "Besides, seems like you've got a fan here. See you later?"

"Yes. Thank you." Jensen smiled back at him. "I can't thank you enough. You've been awesome, and it's not even as if you're my manager."

"Yeah, about that..." Misha chuckled. "I could be if you wanted. Think about it while I go get a change of clothes. We can discuss it later."

With that, he left the room to Jensen and his vigil.

A porter arrived some minutes later, bearing an armchair, which Pearl assured him she had stolen from the office of one of the consultants. "It's okay, honey. I think he's on vacation until next week," she said, settling Jensen into it and arranging things so he was on Jared's left side and able to hold the hand that wasn't injured.

Jensen thanked her profusely and made a mental promise to find out just what she liked and buy it for her. As she left, Jensen snuggled back into the luxurious embrace of the purloined seat, took hold of Jared's hand, and promptly fell asleep.

He awoke with a start to the sound of soft laughter and opened his eyes to find Pearl chuckling as she made notes on Jared's clipboard.

"You two are adorable," she said, and as he turned his gaze onto Jared, Jensen could see that his eyes were open, and he had a smile on his face despite the bruising and swelling that made him look almost unrecognizable.

For a moment, Jensen couldn't believe what he was seeing, but then the tears sprang to his eyes even as he began to laugh and exclaim in sheer happiness.

"Oh, my God, Jay! You look like you were run over by a train," he exclaimed, when he could finally speak coherently. "Are you OK? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Jared blinked once, then smirked. "Fifteen," he said in a voice that sounded like rusty nails on a blackboard.

Jared's surgery had been successful, and he improved physically in leaps and bounds. It was frustrating for him to be confined to the hospital, and when the physical therapist arrived to start work with him, he took to it with grim determination.

Progress was slow. He stuttered when he was feeling emotional, and he felt emotional most of the time. His right hand, which had been seriously damaged when Danneel had driven her stiletto heel through it, was the cause of many meltdowns as he tried to make it produce any semblance of a melody.

The day that he was finally discharged from the hospital and able to go home with Jensen, grumbling that he was not allowed to drive, he'd headed straight for his music room, picked up his acoustic guitar and then threw his head back, howling when he was unable to do more than strum the instrument. Jensen had found him poised ready to smash the guitar against the wall.

"No, Jay! What are you doing? That's an Ovation you're about to destroy."

"It's no use," Jared's voice trembled with rage. "I can't play it any more. It's over."

"You will though." Jensen dropped to his knees beside him. "Don't let her win, Jay. Don't let her beat you in the end."

Jared dropped the guitar and fell against Jensen, tears falling unacknowledged as his shoulders shook, and it seemed like the easiest thing in the world for Jensen to put his arms around him, pulling him close.

"Listen. You and I are going to be playing together." Jensen's voice brushed like silk over Jared's ears, and he stilled, listening. "I think we should start easy, with gentle acoustic sounds. Let's turn expectations on their head and do an album of folk music. Dammit, it worked for Springsteen. It'll work for us. That way we can practice together while you get your fingers back into their stride."

After thinking about that for a few moments, Jared nodded. He was still down in the dumps, but he wasn't streaming with tears anymore. Instead, he reached over to pass Jensen his twelve string. "Okay. I'll try." 

His eyes were still moist as he attempted to shape his fingers into chords that had come to him naturally only a few weeks earlier, but which now constantly eluded his stiff fingers. Between them, they stumbled through 'Wild Mountain Thyme', first haltingly then over and over again.

"We're gonna do this together, babe," said Jensen, finally setting the guitar back in its stand. "You maybe can't hear it, but you were getting better. Your chord changes were faster, and more fluent, and bear in mind, the cast isn't helping at all. You aren't going to be able to really try to pick until that comes off next week." He leaned over to place a smacking kiss on Jared's cheek. "C'mere! Let me reward you for your fantastic progress."

"Can't stop now!" Jared frowned, but he knew that his hand was stiffening up, and that he would be suffering horrendous cramps if he kept on pushing. Fortunately, Jensen also knew that and removed the guitar from Jared's grasp, offering a kiss in exchange.

"Come on, love. Don't overdo it. We're gonna keep working every day until you get everything back. Like I said, don't let her win."

For a moment, there was a stand-off between them, but then Jared sighed and released the guitar, reaching for Jensen and allowing the caress, lips pressed to lips in a kiss that very rapidly deepened and became more passionate.

"Let's get that hand of yours stretched out and relaxed," murmured Jensen, reluctantly pulling away. "Got to keep it supple if we want you to get back to perfection."  
Nodding, Jared allowed Jensen to lead him out of his music room and away, for now.

The day that the cast finally came off Jared's arm was a day of celebration for both men. His ribs were mending too, and his hair was beginning to grow back where his head had been shaved. He was still experiencing severe mood swings but was beginning to realize when it was happening and was doing his best to control them.

Back at their house, Jared was biting his lip as he made his way to the music room to practice chords again. It was easier without the cast, and although his middle finger was slow and took effort to bend, he succeeded in playing a couple of simple songs through without error.

Without thinking, he launched into "What You and I Used to Have," the melancholy song he and Connor had laid down at the last minute when he was putting his album together. God! Was it only a few weeks ago? It felt like a lifetime.

Jensen came in with coffee for them both as he was playing, and paused, listening.

"I don't know that one. It's pretty."

"I... I wrote it for you." He felt a sudden pang as he recalled just what had happened and when. It seemed so long ago now. He’d been a totally different person.

"For me?" Jensen beamed. "And look at that. You just played it straight through without any problems."

"Yeah. I left out the fancy bits." Jared set his guitar to one side and stood, gazing down at Jensen. "The hand's working better now the cast is off. I can bend my wrist a little to reach the frets. Still need to get my middle finger working though."

He let his fingers trail over Jensen's arm, ghosting them up to his shoulder and sliding them around the back of his neck. "I know I'm not so pretty anymore. The surgery on my cheekbone is still swollen to hell and gone, but I love you still, more than ever. Is there any chance that you could love me back?"

"Oh, you fucking idiot!" The smile on Jensen's face as he gazed up at Jared was nothing short of radiant. "All you had to do was ask. Of course, I love you, and I've been waiting for you to tell me you're ready. I know everything must have been horribly painful for you. I just didn't want to make it worse." Reaching up, he pulled Jared's head down to press his lips tight to Jared's, licking into his mouth and sliding his hands under his shirt to stroke and pet his skin. Jared had lost a little muscle since the assault and subsequent stay in hospital, but his lats still rippled as Jensen stroked, flexing under Jensen's fingertips as he slipped his arms around to hold Jensen close.

Jared's mouth was greedy, desperate, fingers pressing into Jensen's shoulders as he sucked on the end of Jensen's tongue. "Want you," he mumbled between kisses, sinking his teeth into Jensen's lower lip and shuddering.

Jared gathered Jensen up in his arms and fucking carried him — yes, it hurt his ribs, thank you very much — but he was ignoring that in favor of closing his mouth around Jensen's ear to nip as he made his way to the nearest bedroom. It wasn't actually his bedroom, but he didn't care. 

Dumping Jensen down onto the bed he gazed down at him, eyes full of secrets only he and Jensen would ever know. It hurt again, but he pulled his T-shirt off over his head and tossed it over his shoulder, to stand over Jensen and drink him in, admiring his sturdy body as Jensen slowly pulled off his own shirt.

Jensen lay smiling up at him, seductive, fair skin studded with freckles, sweat shining on taut chest muscles. Reaching up to grab Jared's hands, he pulled the man down to cover him and whispered, "Want you, too, so much."

There were soft moans, little gasps as Jensen rolled him, then licked his way down Jared's throat to his chest, reaching his nipples and sucking them into stiff little peaks. Jared arched against him, letting him draw out his exploration, laughing as Jensen admired his handiwork, blowing cool air over them to see if they would become harder still.

"God, now, please, Jen. I don't have an engraved invitation for you right now, but I'll write one out and give it to you afterwards, okay?" Jared ignored the flush he could feel spreading across his cheeks as be ground his hips against Jensen. His annoyingly stiff right hand fumbled with the button on his fly, doing his best to open his jeans, and Jensen let him, making swift work of shedding his own — pants, underwear, everything. As Jared finally got his pants unfastened, Jensen reached for him and followed the trail of fuzz down, licking a damp, tingling trail down through to find the cock that was jutting so proudly from between Jared's hips.

Jensen’s mouth was warm, so warm, tickling caresses along his inner thigh sending little spurts of pleasure through him, sudden spasm of sweetness when that warm mouth suddenly enveloped him and sucked hard before releasing him with a loud obscene pop. Jared held his breath, waiting, body locked up tight in a snarl of muscle as he waited primed for Jensen to move. When he did, it was to take hold of Jared's hands and press them down into the mattress with a chuckle as he leaned forward.

And oh, God! Jensen's mouth was velvety warm on him once more, tongue painting a masterpiece as those plush lips parted to slide down over him, swallowing him down in a way that whited out his vision for a moment. Jared could do nothing other than arch upwards. Jensen kept his two hands tight against the bed as he slid up again, tongue swirling over the center vein as he drew back his head. 

Whimpering now, Jared could only pump his hips furiously, while Jensen merely tongued under the head and sucked him slowly, lips wrapped around the crown for all the world like an ice cream.

"Fuck, Jen," Jared moaned. "Gonna come if you don't stop."

Pulling off with a moist sounding plop, Jensen smirked. "Maybe I want you to come?" he suggested.

"Not... not ‘til the main event," said Jared. "It's been so long." He felt hot, desperate, somehow scared that Jensen would fade away leaving him with just the memories of what might have been before Danneel had played them. Clinging to Jensen, Jared rubbed his face against him. "Please?"

And Jensen grabbed him by the hips, hauled him up so that he could cover him, and fuck! He growled, deep and feral as he shoved Jared's jeans down, off and somewhere onto the floor. He mauled Jared's mouth, lips and tongue and teeth. There was a taste of blood in Jared's mouth, and it could be his own or it could be Jensen's. It didn’t matter, because Jensen worked his way between Jared's legs, pressing his knees apart to grind down against his cock. Jared lifted his legs out of the way, bit at Jensen's ear, his neck, his shoulder as Jensen fumbled for purchase, and then it was too late. The world stopped spinning on its axis as Jared came, body jittering, heat and ecstasy singing through him to spill against Jensen.

"Wait!" One word gritted out against his cheek, then Jensen was up and off him, shedding his clothes, making for the bathroom. Returning a moment later, he brandished a tube of KY, smirking knowingly as he stroked it onto his still hard cock.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," he announced, pushing Jared back from where he'd sat up, both hands on his shoulders as he crawled back onto the bed. He kissed Jared again, and Jared felt something turn over, deep down in his belly, butterflies dancing to the rhythm of his pounding heart.

There was pre-come oozing from Jared's cock, and Jensen dragged his fingers through it, slid them up to his mouth to suck as Jared watched and then reached down to push a newly slicked finger inside him, the sting of the intrusion reminding Jared just how long it had been since... since...

Two fingers, stretching him, owning him, and he gazed up at Jensen, heart in his eyes as he watched how Jensen concentrated, teeth biting into his lower lip, cheeks flushed with need. 

"Jesus, Jen, I've missed this, missed you. You feel so fucking good." He could feel how that made Jensen shake, and he knew he was shaking too, sweat trickling down over his chest soaking into the T-shirt he was still wearing. "Just do it. No more prep?"

There was a gasp from Jensen, and he bent his neck, pressing his forehead against Jared's as he applied more slick and centered himself, easing his way into Jared's tight hole a fraction of an inch at a time until the head of his cock brushed against that spot inside him. Jared's body jolted, shoving up against Jensen as he moaned. 

"Oh, God!" Jared could feel the dull, tingling heat begin somewhere behind his balls, a fuse just waiting to be lit as Jensen started to move. It was slow at first, each thrust sending a spark into his balls and along his cock, and he gripped Jensen's ass cheeks tightly, so tightly that he could feel his nails digging into Jensen's skin.

He tightened his thighs, squeezing Jensen's waist with his knees as he felt the surge of fizzing tingles ignite that pool of heat that lay waiting. There was a moment of breathless anticipation, head thrown back, mouth wide and chest tight, because he'd forgotten how to breathe, and then the whole of his body convulsed as the tsunami of sweet release flooded him. It sent tingling sweetness flickering up his spine and down through his spine as it tightened his balls. His cock pulsed with it as he came, spurting all over Jensen's belly.

Holding Jensen as he chased his own release, he felt a surge of love for this man in his arms that he thought he'd lost, and as the two of them lay panting for breath, he vowed that they would make it, that nothing would ever come between them again.

"And the Grammy goes to..."

Ed Sheeran grinned as he teased tearing the envelope until an exasperated Arianna Grande snatched the thing out of his hand and tore it open. They spoke in unison as they announced the winner of the Best New Artist award.

"J & J, Inc." The audience went wild as Jared rose to his feet and extended a hand to Jensen, who was just recovering from further surgery on his spine that doctors had promised would finally permit him to walk at last without having to rely on the stick that he despised.

For now, he leant heavily on Jared's arm as they made their way up to the podium to receive their award, and Jared stood back so that Jensen could make his thank you speech.

"I want to keep this short and sweet," he said as he gazed around the audience, taking in old friends and new faces. "We've come through hell, both of us, in the past couple of years, and to be standing here, getting an award like this is not only wonderful, it's testament to the fact that neither Jared nor I gave up. We could have, but we didn't." 

"Thank you for loving our music, and for recognizing our hard work. I also want to thank our manager, Misha, and above all thank you to Miss Sandra McCoy, without whom we might have lost Jared forever. Thank you."

Cameras focused on Sandy, who was sitting at their table, wide eyed at the attention she was suddenly receiving, and as the two men returned to their party, she whacked Jensen's arm.

"So much for investigative reporting," she said. "They'll all see me coming now, and I'll never get another scoop."

"Sorry, not sorry." Jensen resumed his chair with a sigh of relief. "God, it's not easy being the idol of millions, is it? I hope we don't win anything else because I don't think I can do that again."

As the evening went on, they were happily resting on their laurels, watching as Billie Eilish received an award for best pop vocal album. Jason and Riley came over to chat, and nobody was really paying attention when Sir Elton John took the stage with Katy Perry to award the Album of the Year Grammy. 

It was Misha who heard the announcement and told them to get up there. Jensen shook his head. "Seriously, I can't. I need morphine as it is."

"I guess I can take one for the team," said Jared, smiling his huge, white smile. Accepting the trophy, he leaned down to the microphone, not daring to mess with the height at all, because these days he was notorious for making them collapse.

"Jensen's just recovered from a surgery, and he's in a lot of pain, so you're going to have to put up with me instead." There were chuckles and a few cheers as Jared paused. "So last year, he and I won a Grammy each. This year we got them both together. We're eternally grateful to our listeners, and we hope to see you all at some stage, because as soon as Jensen's feeling a little better, we'll be coming to a venue near you. Thank you." He waved as he stepped down from the stage and there were tears in his eyes when the applause swelled around him.

As he reached their table, he handed the award to Jensen and the applause was even louder. Flashes went off everywhere as people recorded the moment when Jared bent to kiss him, and as the cheers and the clapping finally began to die, Jensen whispered, "Best night ever!"

"It always will be, while we're together," replied Jared.

END


End file.
